


Spiritual Intervention

by Anchanee



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Torture, Dark Harry Potter, Dark Hermione Granger, Dark Ron Weasley, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gaslighting (Implied), Ghost James Potter, Ghost Lily Evans Potter, Ghosts offer Perspective, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Masturbation, Mentioning Of Character Death, Morally Grey Albus Dumbledore, Morally Grey Harry Potter, Psychological Torture, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, Temporary Blindness, Unhealthy Relationships, Voyeurism, character does not die!, preparation for character death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:33:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 76,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27957710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anchanee/pseuds/Anchanee
Summary: At the graveyard, after the Triwizard's Tournament, things change. James and Lily offer more than a few words, they tell the truth.>James threw a brief glance over his shoulder towards his wife, then back at his son. "Prophecies are a tricky thing, Harry. Some of them are inevitable. Some are self-fulfilling, but some … actually most of them … only have as much power as you give them. We believed in this one. Giving it so much more power than it had to have."<Harry's so tired of being afraid all the time. Of being a pawn in someone else's game. He has to end Voldemort. Moody taught them the words after all. Problem is: Harry is not a killer.So he tries the one thing that might actually help: To make an ally out of an enemy.This is a story where Voldemort becomes a little more like Harry and Harry becomes a little more like him. Meeting in the middle they set out to change their world.
Relationships: Bartemius Crouch Jr./Voldemort, Harry Potter & Voldemort, Harry Potter/Severus Snape, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 356
Kudos: 645





	1. June 24th 1997

"Kill the spare."

"NO!!!"

Later, Harry was unable to explain _how_ he had managed. Accidental magic, most likely. But in that second, utterly exhausted, hurt and confused, far away from Hogwarts, he knew that he would never forgive himself if he let Cedric die. This was _his_ fight. Always had been. With overwhelming clarity, Harry had realised, when hearing that bone-chilling voice, that everything had been a ploy, an elaborate scheme to get him right here, right now, consequences for everyone else be damned. So, he exploded, knocking Wormtail off his feet, right into Cedric's arms, who clutched the traitor reflexively. Beyond caring, about his chances of survival, Harry hectically looked for the Triwizard's Cup. In a swift motion, he summoned it straight into Cedric's arms. The boy wanted to protest, but the portkey activated on impact, whisking both the Hufflepuff and the traitor away. Relieved, Harry sank against a headstone, but not for long, as the creepy voice snickered, "This unusual display of wit will not save you, Mr. Potter. You will die today. Avada Kedavra!"

"Expelliarmus!"

At this point, that spell was more of a reflex than a conscious choice. Their magic collided mid-air not cancelling each other, but not landing either. Harry's wand began to vibrate, making him clutch it desperately. While he had accepted his death as the inevitable, he was not willing to go without a fight. A beam of lightning, where their spells met, moved towards him, but Harry fought, wanting to meet his fate standing tall. He could not see the figure that was casting the other spell, but the moment he rose, the beam began to wander, away from him, towards Voldemort. When it collided with the other's wand, spectres emerged, an old man, then Charity Burbage. The teenager shuddered, remembering their deaths all too well. Then his heart stopped because he knew the last victim before Professor Burbage. Tears started to cloud his vision.

"Oh, sweetheart, don't cry." A quiet voice, so full of love that the tears inevitably started to fall, whispered.

"Mum."

He chocked.

"It will be alright, son. Just hold on."

"Dad!"

"James, you …"

Harry had to blink a few times, to see his parents looking at each other, before the spectre of his mother floated away, towards the other end of the rope.

"It's okay, Harry, just hold on. Stop fighting, just hold on to the magic. We can only remain as long as the connection between your and Voldemort's wand is active."

Strangely enough, it worked. The young wizard took a deep breath and relaxed his hold. His father would not steer him wrong. The strain eased. The connection started to feel natural, comfortable even, and Harry wondered why he had held on so firmly when things could have been so much easier if he had just let them happen naturally.

"Is mum going to be alright?" He asked in a small voice.

"Of course, son. But listen, we don't have much time, and there is much you need to know."

Harry nodded, looking at a man he only knew from photos Hagrid had gifted him at the end of first year. He understood now why people always called him a mirror image of James Potter. The hair, the glasses, he was like a carbon copy of his dad. But there was a warmth and love in James Potter's gaze, Harry had never seen directed at himself.

"Things are not as they seem, Harry. There was a prophecy, and I made the mistake of believing the man who brought it to our attention."

"What prophecy?"

">The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...<"

Confused, Harry shook his head, strengthening the grip of his wand, so the connection would not fade. "I don't understand. What does this mean?"

With a sigh, James threw a glance over his shoulder towards his wife, who had a similar conversation with a crippled Dark Lord. "Prophecies are a tricky thing, Harry. Some of them are inevitable. Some are self-fulfilling, but some … most of them, in fact … only have as much power as you give them. We believed in this one. Giving it so much more power than it had to have."

"Who believed? I still don't understand?"

Shaking his head, the ghost tried to break down what they had learned before their deaths and witnessed after. "Listen, son; most prophecies are made but not heard because true seers are rare and seldomly acknowledged. But when Albus came to us, to Lily and me and Alice and Frank, he explained that both Neville and you fit that prophecy and that we should hide. We were in the middle of a war, and there was Death Eater Raids left and right. Frank and Alice chose to bring Neville to his grandmother because the wards on Longbottom Manor are strong. We hid away from Potter Manor because your mother thought an undetectable house better than ancient wards. It might have been, but with Wormtail as secret keeper we served ourselves up on a plate.

"But you have to understand this, Voldemort learned about it from one of his Death Eaters, and he made a choice that night, a choice that tied the two of you together, kicking the prophecy off, so to speak. That made it unlikely that either of you can have a fulfilling life unless either the other is dead or …"

Harry felt that his father was about to say something. He glanced along the beam. The bright star was hovering in the middle again, not moving in either direction. The vibrating of his wand had all but ceased. He wanted his mother back, to stand by his side when he had to hear what his dad did not want to say. But she was still deep in conversation with that thing that was Voldemort. "Or?"

"Or you have to work together."

 _"What?"_ The young wizard nearly dropped his wand, breaking the connection, but his father's pained expression made him hold on. "Excuse me; I'm supposed to do what?"

"Listen, Harry, you … talk to Sniv… Severus. He once believed in Tom Riddle. He only became a spy, because Voldemort targeted us. Lily was always the only person he was truly loyal to." He smiled, "Well, Lily and now you. From what we gathered, your 'Dark Lord' was all about protecting the wizarding world, at least at the beginning. That's not a bad thing. We know that muggles are dangerous, at least those of us who look. World War II. Hiroshima. We have no choice but to hide. If we are discovered, they will eradicate us with but a push of a button. But when Tom Riddle split his soul, he started to hurt; he became hard and bitter. He lost sight of the bigger picture, turned into Lord Voldemort, and became content with harming people. Without him being whole, he will destroy our world. But you … you can make a difference. He can't kill you, so he might listen to you."

"He tried to kill me every chance he got!" Harry sneered.

"Because he did not know."

"Did not know what?" The young man asked exasperated. This was going over his head. All he wanted was to curl up and sleep for a week. Regrettably, that was not possible.

"That you carry a piece of his soul." A gentle voice explained.

"Mum." The tears were back.

"Oh, my precious baby. I wish we had more time. I've talked to Tom. He knows the truth. He might not like it, not even willing to admit to it, but he knows. Tearing his soul apart brought him only pain. That pain clouds his judgement. He needs to become whole again. Go to him and see if you can help. By now, you carry the biggest piece of his soul. Fragments of the diary have latched on to the piece already inside of you." She smiled weakly, though it came out more of a grimace. "Actually, at this point, you might carry more of Tom Riddle's soul than the homunculus over there."

"But I don't want … what if I can't help him? He's the reason you are dead! He's the reason so many muggleborn had to die. The reason Neville's parents are in St. Mungos. I can't … he is … he is a monster!"

"Then kill him." Harry's dad advised.

"James!"

"No!" James cut Lily off. "If you can't work with him, you have to kill him. Otherwise, our entire world will tear itself apart. It's your choice, Harry. Know that your mother and I love you no matter what. Albus knows. He set you up. We never wanted you to live with Petunia and her walrus of a husband. Even Snape would have been a better choice of guardian. However, Albus started to play his little games. He manipulates those around him, forces them to do his bidding. He could have given Sirius a trial but didn't. He could have found another guardian for you but didn't. At this point, we are about 90% sure that he even knows about the Horcrux."

At that moment, Harry learned that even the best of intentions did not make one a good person. Not if you made the wrong decisions along the way.

The pained look on his mother's face showed Harry that she wanted everything _but_ her son to become a cold-blooded killer but … but she would understand. In the end, everything was better than to keep Harry a pawn between two powerful wizards who didn't care about him! These were his parents, and their love was unconditional. "He never knew that," Lily whispered as if reading Harry's mind. "He never knew love because he was conceived without it. Tom was raised in an orphanage where they thought him possessed … a freak (a deliberate choice of word). They hurt him and looked down at him. And after the first Horcrux, pain became his sole companion. Your dad is right, baby. Either find his Horcrux and help him patch up his soul or kill him. In the end, it would be a mercy."

He wanted to ask for more advice, for assurance that he was about to do the right thing. It would not be his first kill, wouldn't it? Quirrell had not survived their contact. He had not even been twelve years old by then. But before he could open his mouth, the connection broke. It had not been his doing, yet he lowered his wand all the same. Across the graveyard, he could see something wrapped in a dirty blanket … a thing, that carried the last remnants of Voldemort's soul. He stepped closer, raised his wand …

"Finally, ready to finish it?" The high, unnatural voice taunted. The thing tried to rise, to meet this final challenge on his feet rather than bundled up on damp earth. What emerged from the blankets was a creature out of a nightmare. Like a human but not. Stick-thin with arms and legs that seemed too emaciated to support the body. An unnaturally large head with but one, human feature: eyes burning so bright that they dug right into your soul. But instead of hatred, Harry saw rage, desperate, infinite rage and pain so great it threatened to drown him. How could anybody live like that?

Well, nobody could … because what Voldemort had was not a life. Harry stepped closer and clutched his wand. Moody had taught them the words. He would save the wizarding world from a mad man by saying them.

"Avada …"

He couldn't.

The figure leaned back against the headstone it had propped up against.

Harry lowered his wand. "This is wrong." The figure slipped, and the young man jumped to catch it. It felt like matchsticks in human form and for a moment, he was afraid that clutching too hard would break Voldemort right in two. For a heartbeat, he thought that the figure was clawing at this skin, trying to get closer, but then it shoved him away again. "Go on, kill me. There is no other way. The prophecy …

"Fuck the prophecy!" Harry spat out empathically, sinking to the floor beside the homunculus, leaning against its headstone. Looking up, he started to chuckle. "Marvolo Riddle. It looks like your namesake holds us up."

The figure turned away. "My father."

"Really?" The young man studied the grave.

"My muggle father," the other spat out. "I needed his bones for the ritual that was supposed to give me a body. Bone of the father, unknowingly given. Flesh of the servant, willingly given. Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken."

Sagging, Harry shook his head, "Well, I guess that ship has sailed."

"I _will_ get my body back," Voldemort hissed. "This is but a reprieve if you are too weak to kill me."

"Maybe, but not with 'Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken'."

"And pray, why not?" The homunculus taunted. "Don't think for a second that I will spare you if your death factors into my plans!"

Studying Voldemort, taking in the pain that still seemed to permeate every part of his body and soul, Harry reached out and pulled them close. It should have been disgusting but having Voldemort close was … right. Maybe the soul pieces in his scar knew that they belonged together. "Because I'm not your enemy any longer."

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies..." Voldemort recited. "Of course, we are enemies. There is no other way!"

"That's all?"

"What?"

"That's all of the prophecy, you know? That's maybe a quarter of it!"

"Tell me!"

Calculating, Harry studied the figure. He could not kill it, not in cold blood. Maybe his parents had known and had set him on this path of self-discovery. Perhaps they were disappointed. But they had told him that they would love him either way. He believed that. Well, if he could not kill this enemy, he might as well try and make him an ally. "No."

"No? How dare you?!"

"No," Shrugging easily, the young man turned to look at the figure at his side. "It's better when I'm close, isn't it?" He could saw glaring, but neither deny nor confirm the statement. Taking it for the admission it was, he continued, "Listen, I get that at one point you might even have had noble intentions, tried to save our people from the muggles, but with this whole 'soul splitting' business, you got distracted. We have to undo that and then … then we will find a way into the future. Together!"

Baffled, the homunculus stared at him. Harry would have laughed, were it not such a gruesome image. "You want to help me?"

"On a few conditions."

"And what conditions might that be?" The figure asked sceptically.

"First, no more random killings. Actually, scratch that, first we get you a body, then patch up your soul apart from the piece in me. _Then_ we find a solution to save our people. Together!"

"Why?"

That was the crux of the matter, wasn't it? The right answer might give Harry a chance for a better future. A future where he did not have to look over his shoulder constantly. Where he was not on the run from a madman out to kill him every minute of every day. A selfish reason. The wrong answer might get him killed right here, right now. Was he willing to bow to a 'Lord', who had seemed determined to destroy all muggles and 'mudbloods' in the past? Of course not. But, he had to be honest, because a lie could jeopardize the sliver of progress they had already made.

"Because I'm scared," Harry admitted after a few quiet minutes of contemplation. "I don't want to be afraid all the time. Afraid at home, where my aunt and uncle hate the very sight of me because I have magic. Afraid at school for whatever plot you might come up with next. I just want to … to live; without the fear and hatred."

Barking out, Voldemort educated, "Muggles will always hate us. They are jealous of our power. There is but one way out of this. In the end, it's them or us!"

Shaking his head, Harry decided, "I don't believe that."

"So, you believe in Dumbledore's great plan that we can all get along and sing around the fire, once we are exposed? Don't be naïve, boy!" The other sneered. "The only fires muggles will ever dance around are our pyres!"

"Don't call me boy," Harry shot back, then he shook his head. "No, there has to be another way. For centuries we stayed hidden. Sure, their technology advances, but so can we. We can find ways to hide better. Maybe even use their technical advances against them. Disillusionment charms on a global scale! Maybe … maybe we can create a place for all wizards to live in peace, away from the muggle world."

"And what would you call this place, Utopia?" The Dark Lord mocked.

"I don't know," Harry snapped back. "For the love of God, I am fourteen years old. This year, I got torched by a dragon, nearly drowned in the Black Lake and fought my way through a maze just an hour ago. I'm exhausted and hurt and … _and I don't know!_ " He felt close to tears but desperately tried to suppress them. He would not cry like a little child, not here, not now. Not when he wanted to be taken seriously but his current/former adversary. He felt Voldemort studying him.

"Take the cauldron and help me up." The man instructed.

"Sorry?"

With a sigh, the homunculus made an impatient gesture. "You're exhausted, and I require sustenance. Take the tools Wormtail has prepared and let us return to the house."

Oh, the house on the hill. The place where the muggle had died. Doing as instructed, carefully picking up Voldemort, who wrapped his spindly arms around Harry's neck before he suppressed a sigh of relief. "Do you think this ritual would have worked?"

Tilting his head, the Dark Lord pondered, "Wormtail might have been a snivelling coward, but he was always good with this. In fights, he hid like the rat he was, but when it came to ritual magic, he was extraordinarily skilled. Yes, I believe the ritual would have worked, but - as you have so helpfully pointed out - we lack key ingredients. I need to find another way to gain a body."

"We will need help," Harry decided.

"Not Dumbledore!"

"No," the young wizard slowly shook his head, "not Dumbledore. But … don't you … you had someone at the school, someone who helped me win, didn't you? You would never take a chance to trust my skill to make it through the maze."

It was a cold, superior smile that grace the creature's features and Harry shuddered for a moment.

"Of course, I have."

"I need … I need Hermione. If anybody can help us, it's her."

For a heartbeat, the Dark Lord hesitated, then he seemed to come to a decision. "Send her a message. Tell her to get Moody to bring her along. He will know how to get here."

"Moody? But …," Harry would have slapped his head, had he not had his hands full. "Polyjuice, right? It's in his blasted hip-flask."

With a more honest smile, Voldemort decided. "Maybe this will work after all."

"But I don't have an owl."

"Then again, maybe not." The older sighed. "My spies told me that you can produce a corporeal Patronus."

"There are not Dementors around."

Now Voldemort seemed ready to slap his forehead, or better yet, Harry's before he explained with exaggerated patience. "Conjure one and then give it a message. It will find your friend."

"Really?"

"Do, it, stupid boy!"

Harry flinched, he always hated it when people called him 'boy'. Still, he entered the house and placed the homunculus in the chair in front of the fireplace. "Expecto Patronum!" All of a sudden, all exhaustion and desperation were washed away by the gentle glow of his patronus. Gently Harry reached out as if to pet the light-figure. "Prongs," he whispered. The stag gently 'nudged' his hand. Though Harry could not feel a physical touch, he felt energy travelling up his arm, filling his body with light and love. The Dark Lord cleared his throat. "Right, please, find Hermione, but don't let yourself be seen. Not even by Ron. Tell her to find Moody and that he should bring her along when he returns to his Lord. I … tell her not to tell anybody else. Please."

The stag nudged him once, before galloping through the wall. The exhaustion was back as soon as the last light faded.

"It's beautiful," Voldemort's quiet voice stated.

"It's my dad." The stag was not a copy of his father's patronus, but a tiny part of James' protective love he had carried along ever since his dad had died in his defence. "What is yours?"

The Dark Lord turned away his head and stared into the dying embers. When the quiet lingered, the young wizard scooted over and re-kindled the flames. For long minutes, neither said a word. Then the Lord admitted quietly, "I have never been able to conjure one."

No happy memories. At least none strong enough to feed a patronus. "Maybe we can make some," Harry whispered, not looking up. "Maybe, when you are yourself again, we … we can find a way for you to be happy."

Briskly, the figure brushed that away. "My happiness was never a concern, nor will it be in the future. This is about the survival of our race."

The younger wizard nodded. "Where's Nagini?" Changing the subject, he looked around for the giant snake that had seemed glued to her master's side before.

_*Nagini!*_

_*Massster,*_ the snake hissed, slithering into the room, _*you are ssstill tiny.*_ She disapproved, winding herself around the chair so she could taste the air around Voldemort.

 _*There were … complications,*_ the Dark Lord admitted. _*We lost Wormtail tonight.*_

 _*Ssstupid rat!*_ The snake hissed. _*Should have eaten him when I had the chance!*_

Chuckling, Harry gave his twopence, _*No objections.*_ Then he flinched back, when the snake reared its head, hissing at him, jaw opened wide, poison dripping from her fangs. _*Sorry, sorry, please, don't eat me. I'm on your side.*_

 _*Another ssspeaker,*_ the snake startled, closing her mouth, but still watching him with suspicion. _*a mere hatchling.*_

Pondering on how to introduce Harry, Voldemort admitted after a few moments, _*He is our hatchling at the moment, since he is like you, my beauty.*_

That made the snake uncoil from the armchair and approach Harry. Wearily he held still as she slithered around him, inspecting him from all sides, tasting the air so closely that he could feel the tip of her tongue on his cheek. For several minutes nobody said a word, letting the magical creature come to her own decision. Finally, she slid back to Voldemort, _*He'sss too thin. He needs to sssleep. He tastesss like blood. You both need food. I will hunt.*_

Rolling his eyes, Voldemort shared, "Congratulations, Potter, you've just been adopted."

"Not the weirdest thing that has ever happened to me," Harry admitted. "But you need food too. You said so. You drink her milk, right? How do I gather it?" That was something that undoubtedly classified as the weirdest thing he ever had to do. And that said something, given his life. Who knew that you could 'milk' a venomous python? Voldemort was clearly uneasy with Harry's support. But for the lack of Wormtail, there was no choice. His body was weak. Afterwards, they sat in front of a merrily crackling fire, and Harry tried to come up with ideas on how to get food. This house did not exactly feel 'lived in'. When a loud crack broke the peaceful silence, Harry was on his feet in an instant, wand at the ready, hovering between Voldemort and whoever had appeared.

He was only slightly surprised when Alastor Moody broke into the room, Hermione pressed close to his body, in something like a chokehold. She stopped struggling when she spotted Harry. Moody needed but a heartbeat to take in the situation, then he barked madly, "Potter, what have you done? Avada …"

"Crucio!"

The torture curse flew past Harry, felling the former Auror in an instant. Hermine slipped free, eyes wide and when she noticed the changing, _laughing_ form beside her. "Master," he gasped. The next moment the curse ended.

"Bartemius Crouch, you will never, ever raise your wand against Mr. Potter! Have I made myself clear?" The icy voice from the graveyard was back, and only now did Harry realise how much it had changed these last few hours. Voldemort no longer in a murderous mood and him no longer afraid of it.

Struggling to his feet, suffering through the transformation when the Polyjuice ran out, the Death Eater pulled off the eye and wooden leg. Then he crawled towards the chair, licking his lip excitedly. "Oh, Master, I never thought I would have the honour to be in your presence again. I …"

"Silence," the Dark Lord interrupted his faithful servant, who seemed ready to weep for the joy of kneeling at his feet. Instead, he studied Hermione Granger, who had taken in this interaction with a frown. When she realised that no curse would fly her way, she turned towards Harry, blazing, "Harry, James Potter, do you have any idea how worried I have been after Cedric's return and him babbling something about a graveyard?"

"I'm sorry?" Harry admitted sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck, realising that he so needed a shower. Then Hermione flew into his arms, nearly strangling him with her hug. "I was so scared," she admitted wetly.

"I'll explain," he promised. Yet when he looked at Voldemort's homunculus, and Barty prostrated before it, "but you might not believe me."

Straightening, Hermione briskly pushed back her hair. "Try me."

Harry's stomach grumbled, much to his embarrassment. Rolling her eyes, she pulled her rucksack off her back and dragged out his. "Here, I thought you would need that." Then she rummaged through around again and produced a little metal tin and a bottle. "And here." She then dared to look at Voldemort. "No offence … ahm … Sir, but you don't look so good. Do you want to eat something as well?"

It took a moment for Harry to identify the homunculus wheezing noise as laughter, "She does have an uncanny ability to state the obvious. I think I like your muggleborn, Mr. Potter."

With a small smile, Barty added, "Mrs. Granger is considered the brightest witch of her age for a reason."

"Not afraid that I will curse you, Mrs. Granger?"

Hermione shook her head, sinking to the floor beside Harry, who was devouring the sandwiches and fruit she had requested from the house-elves shortly before her departure. "Not really. It's clear thatHarry asked for me. He would not do that if he thought me in immediate danger."

"Because he has never put you in danger before?" The Dark Lord challenged.

Shrugging, Hermione nibbled on an apple piece. She handed half a sandwich to Barty, who seemed to starve as well. "Of course, he has, but he always made sure Ron and I knew what we were getting into. More or less."

"You are very loyal."

"It would not be the first time I risked my life for him or he for me. That's just how it is."

Studying her, the homunculus wanted to know after a few moments, "And you are not disturbed that you are in a room with a Death Eater, a Dark Lord and a sleeping 'Saviour'."

Looking down at Harry, who was dozing against her leg, after having inhaled his dinner, she nodded. "Of course, I am. Nothing about this situation seems right. But I trust Harry to have a reason for us being here."

After a heartbeat, he instructed, "Barty, there is a book in the cauldron, show it to Miss Granger. Also, there is a couch in the next room. You will be more comfortable there."

"Master, with all due respect, I …" The Death Eater didn't seem eager to contradict a direct order. Hermione, however, had no such qualms. "No! Bring the couch here where we can all see each other, it might be okay, but you are not locking us away, doing god knows what."

Surprisingly, the figure chuckled, "Your faith in your friend seems boundless, but you don't trust me?"

"Not even a little."

"And if I order you to leave the room?"

Shrugging, Hermione pulled the book out of Barty's hands. "I'll wake Harry, and we leave."

"He will do that?"

The witch shrugged, "He usually trusts my judgement."

"What if I curse you?"

"Then he'll be pissed, and for some reason, I have the feeling that you want to stay on his good side. It's not that hard, really. Just don't hurt anybody unnecessarily."

For a heartbeat, the Lord studied her. "You did not mention hurting him."

Pressing her lips together in obvious displeasure, Hermione shook her head. "No," she admitted. "I didn't."

Locking eyes with her, Voldemort hissed, "Barty, bring the couch and the table and another chair for yourself."

"Yes, Master."

Upon relocation, Harry had woken briefly and panicked but had allowed Hermione to soothe him back to sleep with his feet pressed against her legs. She and Barty started to study the book that contained the outline of Wormtail's ritual. After mere minutes, Hermione rummaged through her bag again for a notebook and a biro. After an hour, Nagini slithered back into the room, a massive rabbit in her mouth. _*Oh, great, more humansss. How many more will there be, ssso I know if I should not ssstart looking for a boar.*_

Voldemort eased his familiar, _*Just them for now. So, I guess the rabbit will suffice. Thank you, my beauty.*_

Grumbling she climbed back on the chair, winding around his frail body. After a few minutes, quiet breathing indicated that the big, bad Lord Voldemort had fallen asleep, cradled in the coils of his snake.

"I'm sorry if I've hurt you when bringing you here," Barty stated quietly, not looking up from the book. He seemed as lost with the situation as she. Shrugging, Hermine replied, "I'm not sorry for biting you."

The impostor grinned before returning to his studies.

* * *


	2. June 25th 1995

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read the author's note at the end.

Eventually, Hermione caved and allowed the group to be separated, though she told Harry in no uncertain terms that she would be angry if he got himself a) cursed, b) injured, c) killed or d) all of the above. She and Barty came to an uneasy truce. Both were determined to help, though for very different reasons. The young witch tried to reason with the Death Eater, make him doubt his Lords or at least his methods. Barty Jr., however, was beyond reason. In the end, it was easier to go along with his fatalistic believes than to work against them.

She dragged Harry from the house the second evening, away from prying ears. Only a few minutes into her demand for an explanation, Nagini appeared and refused to leave, no matter what Harry said. Sighing, she looked at her friend and finally ended her tirade with, "Why, Harry, please. I'm your friend; unconditionally, you know that. But I need to understand!"

Easier said than done, Harry sought. He looked over the graveyard at the foot of the hill, trying to sort through his reasons to find the one Hermione could understand. 'Because it feels right,' would not fly with her. "Because of my parents," he admitted, finally. "After everything they told me, I feel like … I don't think they want me to become a murderer. Quirrell was self-defence, but killing Voldemort in cold blood, hunting down the pieces of his soul so that I can cut the final tether … that's predetermined murder. I tried, Hermione, please, believe me! I just … I can't do that."

"What if it's him or the rest of the wizarding world? You've heard the stories about the first war."

"Yes," he admitted, turning so she could look into his eyes. "But mum and dad talked about the horcruxes. He tore apart his soul, and it hurts him every minute of every day. I think he might have had good intentions once before this insanity set in. Would so many have followed him otherwise?" Harry sighed, "Honestly, Hermione, I don't know. But mum said that I was not supposed to go to Petunia. Dad … dad of all people said to talk to Snape! I feel like I only have half of the picture and that Dumbledore does not want me to get the rest. And on top of all that, **I** am a fucking Horcrux! I don't want to die. There has to be another way. Voldemort was my enemy because he overheard like a quarter of a prophecy and was convinced that I was out to get him when I was nothing more than a baby! That's stupid! And it could have been Neville just as easily. It's … I'm confused. Nothing makes sense, and for once in my life, I want to do something about that and not relying on 'adults' to make the right decisions for me. Especially if the 'adults' or more specifically Dumbledore, wants me to go to the Dursleys and wanted Tom to live in an orphanage where he got hurt. That's not … it feels like that's not what a good person would do … allow children to get hurt, you know."

"Harry," Hermione whined, interrupting his incoherent rambling. "You have a 'saving people' streak a mile wide, and now you want to save Voldemort? All this … I'm not saying you are wrong or trying to dismiss your feelings, but we'll need help, a lot more help than a crippled soul-shard and a crazy Death Eater can provide."

"Who do you think we need?" Harry started scratching the back of his head. They were standing on quicksand, reacting rather than acting. Even he understood that that might not be enough, given the situation.

She shrugged, "I think we need Ron. He was always better with tactics and the overall picture."

"But Ron's a Weasley and Molly and Arthur believe that Dumbledore can do no wrong. They even know about … you know, how the Dursleys treat me but never did anything about it."

Chewing up her bottom lip, she nodded. She had an idea, but it was a risk. One they could barely afford. After a few minutes of hard thinking, her face hardened, "Call for Dobby."

"Dobby?" At her encouraging gesture, Harry called out, "Dobby?!"

"Harry Potter Sir, Dobby is so relieved to find you healthy!" The elf burst out, tackling Harry around the waist. "Everyone is so worried. The headmaster is been asking for you again and again, but Dobby could not find Harry Potter until Harry Potter called for him."

"Listen, Dobby," the young wizard interrupted urgently, "you can't tell Dumbledore that you know where we are!"

Glancing over Harry's and Hermione's shoulder, locking eyes with the deadly snake, that lay curled up in the grass, now turning her lidless eyes on the elf, Dobby swallowed compulsively, "Dobby won't say anything. But what can Dobby be doing for Harry Potter?"

He looked at Hermione, who wanted to know, "Can you get a letter to Ron, without anyone noticing?"

Glancing at Harry again, the elf nodded. "Ron Weasley is still at Hogwarts, Miss Hermione, me can deliver a message easily."

Pulling a notebook and a pen out of her ever-present school-bag, Hermione scribbled a hasty note, waved her wand over it with a few whispered words, then handed it to the house-elf. "Get this to Ron but only him. Nobody else must see it."

Nodding determined, Dobby took the folded sheet and vanished with a plop.

>Things are different than expected. Need insight. Need a plan. Please don't tell anybody we contacted you. What's a Horcrux, and what happens to a person who carries one? H.<

"H?"

She shrugged. "Let's go back. Either Ron will find us something useful or he won't. Either way, we will know if we can trust him within a few days."

"How?" Harry wanted to know. His stomach was grumbling already, and he was longingly thinking of the rabbit-stew he had simmering in the kitchen.

"It's … I cursed the parchment."

"You cursed Ron's message?" The young wizard paled. "How could you …!"

"Harry, calm down, it's not that kind of curse. It's just … we … I asked him not to tell Dumbledore, well, anybody really. If he goes against that request, his skin will turn inky black. That's all. It won't harm him or hurt him, but it will be visible, and Dobby will tell us it happens."

In the study, the Dark Lord chuckled. Of course, he had used his familiar to spy on the teenagers. They knew but had not cared. He could not trust them. Potter might have offered him help, but the boy was the Light's chosen saviour. Voldemort needed more proof before he could offer even a fraction of trust to his former enemy. Fortunately, Barty was around to suffer the consequences of his temper. Had this stupid boy not interfered, he would have a body by now. He wished they would speed up their research. After all, Wormtail had laid out the ritual in detail, and the Library of the Manson should contain everything they needed to adapt it. He did not want to wait any longer. When he had his body back, he would get the full prophecy out of Potter. Nothing else was acceptable!

* * *

Dear Hermione,

You're lucky Hedwig is willing to carry this letter, all the way to Australia. McGonagall is downright furious that you did not tell her, that you would leave right after the Triwizard's Tournament for the holidays with your parents. I told her that, besides training Harry and our end-of-year exams, you simply forgot. I mean I knew after all. Apparently, parents pulling out their children has to be requested in writing. Anyway, maybe your parents can write to her so that everything is in order.

Harry's disappearance during the last task has everyone on edge. But you mustn't worry, I'm sure he's okay. You know how Hedwig was always anxious at the end of the term, but these last two days she sat at the Owl Emporium, calm as you please. So, I think Harry's planned to sneak away this year and warned her ahead of time. I would too if I had to back to those bloody muggles. But the headmaster insists that Harry is not safe outside of the blood wards, so they are all looking for him.

Anyway, have fun on your holidays. Maybe you can send me a picture of one of those Kangaroos. I always imagine a jumping mouse, six feet tall. Luna says to be aware of snakes, big and small. It seems every species down under poisonous, including but not limited to the ones only Luna knows about.

Yours  
Ron

* * *

_*Can I eat her?*_

_*Touch Hedwig and I'm making a belt out of you,*_ Harry threatened absent-minded, half petting his familiar, half-studying Ron's letter. With a sigh, he sank on the couch, where Hermine and Barty were making room for him. "Dumbledore is looking for me."

"But in vain," Hermione nodded. "Dobby?"

"Dobby!" When the elf popped up, the young wizard wanted to know, "What colour did Ron's skin have when you saw him today?"

"Ahm … youngest Mister Weasley's skin was white and red as always," Dobby replied, confused-looking between Harry and Hermione. "But Master Weasley asked me to give you this if I was called. Dobby tried to come to deliver the message. But Dobby can't come here without being called."

The teenagers looked at the homunculus, who sat with his own tome. How he even managed to hold it was beyond them. Briefly looking up, Voldemort shared, "Ward around the property. Of course, I am not so stupid, as to let anybody enter uninvited."

"Could you maybe make an exception for Dobby?" Harry requested cautiously.

"No," the Dark Lord decided. "You want to talk to your servant you call for him."

"Dobby is a free elf!" The little creature insisted, "Dobby is Harry Potter's friend. He helps because he wants to, not because he has to!"

"Even worse!" Voldemort snapped, "he's a security risk! Shoo, leave now. You may return when Potter calls for you, but not a moment sooner!" Forced out, the elf popped away.

"That was mean," Harry commented.

"Dark Lord," the Dark Lord matched his dry tone. "It's in the job description."

Knowing that there was no talking to the … man when he was like that, the teenager sighed and leaned over Hermione's shoulder to read Ron's second message. Well, if his parents were right and Voldemort was in constant pain, his generally unpleasant demeanour could be explained, but god that man was a bastard.

>Hope you and Harry are safe. Don't send Hedwig; Dumbledore put a tracking spell on her. The twins cancelled it for me. They put it on a school owl and sent it off to Australia. Need to get in touch with Bill, so give me a week before sending Dobby again. R.<

Trading a glance, Hermione sighed before returning to her book. Harry rose and left for the kitchen. Now that he did not _have to_ cook, he found it quite relaxing. Also, Barty and Hermione were terrible at it, and the idea of asking Voldemort for food was downright ridiculous.

Now, all they could do was wait.

* * *

"May your enemies tremble at your feet."

"May your gold ever flow. What can we do for you, Mr. Weasley?"

"I would like to talk to my brother."

"It's working hours. Your brother is currently occupied!"

Counting down coins from his purse, Ron put them on the counter. "I formally request an hour of your curse breaker's time." They could take his money and send him someone, someone not Bill, but a man could hope. Ron had scraped together the last of his savings, so this was a one-shot.

After waiting for more than an hour in a grand, dark room, the door opened, "Sorry, Sir, I was otherwise engaged when someone told me of your request. What can I do … Ron?"

Taking a steadying breath, he hoped that he was not making a mistake by talking to his oldest brother. "I need your help, Bill."

Closing and sealing the door, Bill hugged his baby brother. "Of course, Ronny, but why didn't you visit or asked me at home, that would have been cheaper."

"Client confidentiality. You're bound to it since I paid for your time. Right?" Only after Bill had nodded hesitantly, did he dare to ask, "Do you know what a Horcrux is?"

For a heartbeat, Ron was afraid his brother would faint, he paled so dramatically, even swayed on his feet. After swallowing a few times, Bill asked hoarsely, "Where have you heard that word?"

The younger offered an impatient gesture, "Bill, this is important. What is a Horcrux, and how do you get it out of a living being?"

Seven minutes later, Ronald Weasley was white as a sheet, trembling in his seat.

"It's Harry, isn't it?"

Nodding reluctantly, the young man allowed himself to take comfort from embracing his brother. At least he was safe. "I have to go. I …"

"No," Bill reached out for him. "We need to talk to mum and dad. We need help if … this is bigger than all of us."

Yanking his arm away, Ron spat out, "We can't! They will go to Dumbledore. They've always believed in him! Don't you see, by Merlin, we were so stupid!" Agitated, Ron started to pace the room. He had always been good under pressure. Well, actually no, he had _learned_ to be good under pressure, after becoming Harry's friend. "The 'obstacles' for the Philosopher's Stone, Fawkes and the Sword of Gryffindor, the Dementors, and finally the Triwizard's Tournament, all these things were tests for Harry. To see if he could rise to the challenge."

"Ron, you're not making sense. How could Dumbledore be responsible for any of these events?"

Thinking it through, Ron counted up his fingers, "First, he sent Hagrid to Gringotts when he had Harry in tow. That was practically an invitation to snoop around. The same year he explained to him how the Mirror of Erised worked, the final hiding-place of the stone. And honestly, how could the headmaster _not_ know that something was wrong with Quirrell? He worked with the man for years! Second-year, the Chamber! He _told us_ that 'aid would come to those who are loyal', and during the fight, his own familiar brought Harry the Sorting Hat with the Sword and saved him from the basilisk venom. Bill, phoenix tears are the only substance powerful enough to counteract basilisk venom. Hermione looked it up. And what kind of wards does Hogwarts have if they don't even warn the Headmaster of an object as dark as Riddle's diary? The Dementors? I mean, come on, you saw Pettigrew last week. Sirius Black was sent to Azkaban without a trial. Without even being guilty? Dumbledore is Chief Warlock _and_ Supreme Mugwump! Don't tell me that he could not have done anything. At least he could have asked a few questions, even without getting directly involved! And this year? You're a curse breaker, tell me, was there a way to get Harry out of the contract with the cup?"

"Of course," Bill shot back instantly, "there is a clause that enables underage … fuck!"

"William Weasley, no cursing in the house!" Ron imitated their mother's voice at his brother's swearing.

"Sorry, I … you know what, fuck it! We are not at home. This fucking, demented, evil bastard! Of course, there was a way to get Harry out of participating. He _was_ underage! He _didn't_ enter himself! His legal guardian could revoke the contract and since Sirius escaped … he could have contacted him; kept Harry safe but …"

"He wanted Harry to rise to the occasion," Ron repeated unemphatically. "Wait, how do you know that Dumbledore knows of Sirius' whereabouts?"

"I … he …," Bill hesitated, "look, I'm not supposed to tell you this until later in the summer, but there is this group, 'The Order of Phoenix'. Dumbledore created them during the first war. The Potters, the Longbottoms, our family and a few others were members. They tried to fight the Dark Lord, and he has already talked to dad about rekindling it. Dad has asked me if I wanted to help but …"

"You should."

"Are you nuts? With what you've just told me, this man has anything but the best intentions. I shudder to think about what he is willing to do to achieve his goals." The curse breaker contradicted.

"Bill, you should do it," Ron repeated.

Studying his brother, the redhead understood. "You want someone on the inside."

"Someone I … _we_ can trust," the younger man whispered. Sighing, he closed his eyes. "I need to go, Bill. I have to … I don't know what Harry has gotten himself into, but I know it has something to do with Voldemort and he … well, he needs all the help he can get."

After a few seconds, Bill shook his head, "You can't just vanish. That will make mum and dad suspicious. Hold out for a day or two and then … we'll figure something out. You could come to me. We'll tell them you are interested in the tactical approach of curse-breaking. Ron, you can't do this alone. You are fifteen; all of you are teenagers!"

"I was eleven for the stone."

"Yes, but now you have someone in your corner. I'll talk to Charlie and …"

"Fred and George," Ron pondered. "They helped me save Harry summer after first-year. We pulled out the bars of his window with dad's flying car."

"Bars … I thought you were exaggerating! Who would lock up a twelve-year-old in a room with bars on the windows like a prison?"

"Vernon and Petunia Dursley."

"Ron?"

"Yes, Bill?" For a moment, the young redhead had to suppress a shudder. He had never seen his brother with such cold, calculating eyes.

"The address."

This was his responsibility, Ron realised. If he gave Bill the address of the Dursley's, he was responsible for everything his brother would do to these despicable muggles. He would also be responsible for his brother learning the truth about Harry's upbringing first-hand. They _were_ only fifteen. They did need as many people in their corner as possible. So, Ron made a choice. "No. 4 Pivet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey."

"I'll pick you up from the Burrow in three days. Be ready."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you for the lovely comments. I honestly appreciate them, since you can't know where this story is going, or if it will turn out any good in the end.  
> However, I have to tell you that, as of right now, I can't finish posting this story. Not because I don't know how it will end, because, for the first time in my writing history, I have actually finished a story ahead of posting even the first chapter. The 55 chapters are not an estimation, but a fact. BUT! I'm not happy with it.  
> I only post chapters/stories when they are as good as I can make them. Things are a lot harder with 'Spiritual Intervention'. On my own, I can't get the story to where I want it to be. I need help because 'my' Harry is not as cold and calculating and detached as I want him to be.  
> I'm aware this might be quite a project because while I have written around 85.000 words from June to October, I added 105.000 in November and December. So if anybody out there, is willing to put some time and effort into helping me, I would be tremendously grateful. If not ... I honestly can't say if I will finish posting this. It just doesn't have the right 'feel' to it.  
> I hope you've had fun with it so far. At least until Chapter 4, I can promise you this will continue.  
> Have a great weekend. Stay safe and healthy.  
> Anchanee


	3. June 1st - June 26th 1995

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please heed the updated tags.  
> Thank you and enjoy :).
> 
> * * *

"I will most certainly not tell you what my Horcrux' are," Voldemort stated, stick-arms folded before his chest, glaring at the teenagers furiously. His Death Eater, wisely, stayed out of the discussion, hovering just at the edge of the Dark Lord's field of vision.

"Barty, Hermione, please, leave," Harry requested quietly. He had listened to their explanation about the new ritual. How it needed as many Horcrux as possible to increase the chances of success. Barty had offered to brew the necessary elixirs. Hermione had confirmed that the setup was sound. He trusted them. Voldemort didn't. Once they were alone, Harry sank into an armchair.

"I will not …"

"You have to, and you know it." Harry interrupted quietly. "You've seen the ritual. You might not trust Hermione, but Barty is yours. I'm not saying that you will have to tell Hermione or me, but we need them, and you understand that. The diary is mostly lost, only a part that latched onto my soul-shard is still available. At least that's what mum said."

"Your interference is not appreciated, Mr. Potter!"

"I know, but it's needed." Harry crouched down before the homunculus, gently touching the wrinkled, too big hand. "I know this is scary," he stated quietly, "I'm scared too. But if we have all soul-containers in one place, we could restore your body as well as your power. Isn't that what you want?"

As always when Harry was close, Voldemort seemed torn between taking comfort in the presence of his largest Horcrux and pulling back, as not to appear weak. For a few heartbeats, he allowed the contact, then he pulled back and requested harshly, "Send in Bartemius."

Nodding, Harry left. Wards sprang up when the Death Eater entered. "I'll get dinner started."

"I'll get back to the library, make sure we're not missing something."

* * *

An hour later, Barty half staggered, half crawled into the kitchen and vanished into the pantry. Harry finished his dinner preparations. Then he could not ignore the quiet whimpers any longer. Picking up a bottle, Hermione had helped him brew the day before, he entered the dark pantry and slid down beside a trembling Barty. "Do you want a nerve tonic? I think I got it right this time. Hermione helped."

Half laughing half sobbing, licking his lips raw, Barty curled up beside the young wizard. "I deserve this. I can't make him better. He's in pain every minute of every day, while I lived the pampered life of a prince for the last ten years."

"Barty you were in prison."

"My mum got me out, and it was the Imperius Curse again and again and again. For weeks … months at a time, I was floating in a cloud of ignorant bliss while my master was roaming the lands, hurt and alone."

Cautiously reaching out for the half-mad Death Eater, Harry caressed his head, and when the other edged closer, he helped him drink the potion. After a few minutes, the sobs started. "I should have fought harder, should have escaped sooner. Wormtail was of no use. I could have helped my master much better. He would not have had to suffer for so long.

"It is right for me to take at least a fraction of his pain," the Death Eater whispered wetly. "He mustn't suffer alone."

Not knowing what else to do, Harry reached out for the young man and pulled him in, allowed him to cry in his arms and whispered comforting nonsense. After nearly an hour, Barty finally fell asleep, and Harry levitated him up to one of the empty rooms.

After dinner, when he helped Voldemort to Nagini's milk, he commented quietly, "You should not hurt Bartemius so much. He did nothing wrong."

"Barty is glad to take the pain. Life means suffering. He knows that better than most."

Sighing quietly, Harry wanted to contradict that statement, but could not. In the end, Voldemort was right. Still, he added in a whisper, "Kindness will get you further than fear." Then he left.

That night Barty's crawled into his bed. Harry let the other wizard seek comfort in his touch. When they were both awake in the early morning hours, the man admitted, "It's better with you close. I think it's the piece of his soul that calls out to my mark."

How about that?

* * *

A cursed ring.

An ancient cup - and hadn't that been an exciting trip to Gringotts.

Not only was Harry officially an adult, due to his participation in the Tournament, he was also Lord Potter and Black, allowing him to enter Bellatrix Lestrade nee Black's vault. Now Harry was emancipated _and_ had money. A lot of money! Voldemort had been delighted, but the young wizard had made it clear that he would not serve as his vault. He would pay for what he deemed necessary, not more. Someone else could fund the Dark Lord's briberies.

Surprisingly, sneaking into Hogwarts through the Honeyduke's cellar at night had been easier said than done. The Room of Hidden Things had opened easily for Harry and Hermione. Through all the junk, Ravenclaw's Diadem had called out to him. All in all, the entire mission had barely taken more than an hour. Barty had apparated them back to the Manor, as soon as they had left the grounds.

That left them but one locket short.

Being the least recognisable of the lot, _and_ carrying a wand without a trace, Barty had taken it upon himself to embark on the journey to fetch it. Voldemort had insisted on him taking a house-elf along, but Harry had refused to call for Dobby. He still did not trust the Dark Lord to value his little friend's life. Hermione had recalled that Winkey had been entirely out of it last year and when Barty had called his old caretaker, she had appeared, drunk, dirty and sobbed all over his feet.

When they returned later the next day, she was even worse off, and for the first time, Harry believed that he could see something like contempt in the Death Eater's eyes.

Voldemort's anger of discovering that the locket had been stolen had the house tremble at its foundations. Still, Barty refused to go in and ease him.

Harry thought that a step in the right direction.

* * *

Seven days after Ron's message, Hermione and Harry were debating of pulling the redhead into this mess. Dobby had done a little spying for them and shared that his skin was still white and freckled. However, the entire Weasley Clan - sans Charlie, who was still in Romania - had been moved to Grimmauld Place and Dobby did not know what to make of that. Mostly because Kreacher had tried to chase him out, every chance he got.

"I can't expect him to go against his parents. How should I even explain it to him?"

Rubbing her forehead, Hermione could not contradict that. Still, she advised, "Let it be his decision."

"Dobby!" When the elf popped up, he instructed, "Get Ron the next time you find him alone."

A few hours later, they were debating the chances of a successful ritual with one horcrux short, when Dobby and Ron appeared.

Voldemort's wand sprang into his hand. Harry watched his pale best friend glance from Voldemort to Harry, Hermione and Barty Jr. before returning to the Dark Lord. He did not shout, did not rage; he just waited. Calmly, Harry stated, "If you hurt him, I'll walk. Ron's mine."

They waited with bated breath as the Lord judged the young wizard. After a full minute, he lowered his wand. "Very well, Mr. Weasley. Mr. Potter is convinced you are not only able but willing to contribute to our case. Take a seat and enlighten us on what a fifteen-year-old wizard has to offer."

Swallowing compulsively, Ron looked at Harry and Hermione, regret swimming in his eyes, as he whispered, "I don't think I should do that."

"Why?" Harry wanted to know. He loved Ron. The redhead had been his first friend. To see him judge him and then leave, probably rat them out hurt to his bones.

"Because it was all a lie." The young wizard whispered, breaking down, "Our first meeting, you talking to us, oh Harry, it was all a setup!"

Helpless, Hermione pulled their friend to the sofa, rubbing his back, while looking at Harry fearfully.

"I've talked to Bill about … about what you asked me. I'll tell you later but first, … I realised that this was all a setup. Bill said that it would have been possible to get you out of the Tournament. But Dumbledore wanted you to compete. He allowed the Dementors at school in third-year, knowing that Sirius Black would never hurt you. He sent Fawkes with the sword when you were down in the Chamber. Don't you think it's suspicious that the creature coming to your aid was the one that had the power to heal Basilisk venom? And in first-year the Philosopher's Stone … I've talked to the others, you were the first one, the only one ever escorted by Hagrid. Usually, it's a teacher. That he picked up the parcel where you could see it … he wanted you to know about it, to go after it so he could test you even when you were but a tiny eleven-year-old! And the train, … Harry, I …."

Gentry rubbing his best friend's back, taking in the information Ron had just laid out for him, Harry suppressed the anger and heartache. "It's okay, Ron. It's not your fault."

"But it is!" The redhead sniffed. "It's … it has all been a plot, even our friendship! Do you know when we went to the Platform 9 ¾ the last time through the muggle entrance? When Fred and George started Hogwarts, and they insisted on 'running against a wall enhances the experience'! Before that, it was for Bill's first time. Otherwise, we would always floo. Mum even said that we should look out for muggle raised wizards. Don't you see? She _knew_ you would be there, and she even introduced us. Otherwise, I might not have sat with you. She set us up. I'm so sorry."

Harry felt like he had been just doused with cold water. Was _anything_ in his life untouched by the old bastard? Did nothing belong to him, not even his friends? Then Hermione slapped both of them up the head. "You two, stop right now! Yes, Dumbledore might have enabled your friendship, but he did not force Ron to stay friends with you, Harry. He didn't force Ron to hang out with you and help you along when you did not know how to write with a quill or anything about Quidditch. And he most certainly did not force the two of you into a bathroom to save a scared, little witch from a mountain troll or follow you down a trap door to god knows where. Our friendship is as real as you want it to be. Dumbledore might have started it, but what we made of it was never up to him! Us sitting here now is the best proof of that."

Ron glanced towards Voldemort and Barty before looking at his friends. Harry smiled, "You did not even know who I was when you asked to sit with me. I only introduced myself later."

Offering a weak smile in return, Ron let Harry pull him into a strangling hug and mirrored the gesture with vigour. After a moment, Hermione was drawn in. For a few minutes, neither of the three said a word. Then Ron pulled back and blew his nose; then he demanded to know, "Tell me what's going on."

And they did: the ritual, the Horcrux, Voldemort's plans to save their people. Ron did not look convinced.

"You killed my uncles, Gideon and Fabian Prewitt."

"I killed many people," Voldemort stated coldly. "We were at war."

"I don't like you."

"However, will I survive?"

"Bastard," Ron mumbled, before turning towards his two best friends. "Alright, what do you need?"

"We are one Horcrux short of attempting the ritual. After that, we're not exactly sure. You said Dumbledore is in a tiff?"

Snorting, the redhead revealed, "He created this group of vigilantes: the 'Order of Phoenix'. Both of our parents were part of it during the last war. The headquarter is at …" frowning, Ron opened and closed his mouth a few times until Barty piped up, "That would be the Fidelius Charm that hides the headquarters. You can't talk about it, write about it or use any other means of communication that would betray its location."

"That's what hid the house in Godric's Hollow, right?" Harry inquired eagerly.

"Correct," the Dark Lord nodded, "had the Secret Keeper not ratted you out, I would have never had a chance to find you."

"Scabbers," Ron clenched his fists. "They took him in for questioning. Sirius trial is tomorrow. Somehow, Dumbledore did not look happy about that."

Immediately, Harry wanted to know, "If they free him, I could live with him, right? I would not have to go back to the Dursley's."

Rolling his eyes, Voldemort sneered, "You've been emancipated. You could live at Potter Manor if you wished to."

"I have a Manor?"

Crackling, Barty asked, "Did you even read the portfolio the goblins shoved at you?"

"Ahm … not really."

"Harry," Hermione scolded, "you are an adult now. You should be aware of your finances."

"And houses and companies and land you own." Ron piped up, "The Potters were very well off, and the Blacks wealth is only surpassed by the Malfoys in both money and power. Now that you are the head of both families, I think you are even wealthier than Draco."

"And still wearing rags," the Dark Lord commented.

"Sorry, _my Lord_ ," Harry mocked, "it's not as if clothes shopping was on top of my list these last few days."

"Anyway, let's get back to the ritual. Then we can try to discuss what needs to happen next." Hermione stirred them back on track.

"We are still missing Slytherin's locket!" Harry cautioned. "Somehow it feels wrong to try this, without it."

"Slytherin's locket?" Ron wanted to know, staring at the picture, Hermione had pulled out of her binder. Studying it, he tilted his head before mumbling, "I've seen this before. Where have I seen this before?"

It turned out that with the title of Lord Black came the authority over the Black elves. Kreacher gave up his treasure only reluctantly but was too scared of Voldemort to offer much resistance. The power in the room was tangible, menacing and suppressive. The Death Eater and the three children barely dared to touch the pieces, though Harry felt inexplicably drawn to them. Finally, Barty whispered, "The Dark Moon is in three days. We'll have everything ready by then, master."

Voldemort merely summoned his Horcrux and then sealed himself in his room.

Harry sneaked in around midnight.

* * *

"Where are we?"

"The Forest of Dean, I went camping here once, with my parents."

"Hermione?"

"Yes, Ron?"

"Why are we in the middle of some muggle woods?"

Shouldering past the squabbling teenagers Barty, Voldemort in his arms and Nagini at his heel, followed his hovering wand. "Because there is a place of magic in this area. A pool of sorts. We've only found remarks of it in passing."

An hour later, Voldemort decided, "This is not working. Harry, come here."

"Woof," the young man rolled his eyes, but obediently stepped up to Barty and took the Dark Lord into his arms. As always, the homunculus seemed to relax when he was close to his 'biggest' Horcrux. When he gestured for the bag with the remaining pieces of his soul, Harry slung it over his shoulder. Then he looked into the young man's eyes and instructed, "Let go of your barriers."

For a moment, Harry watched him suspicious but then nodded. It was not as if the Dark Lord could not force his way into his mind. Asking to be let in could be considered progress. Both breathed deeply when the connection was made, and a few heartbeats later, they were gone. The remaining teenagers and Barty shared a nervous glance before Nagini hissed something and slithered off. A few minutes later, they found Harry setting up the ritual space around a small pond of about ten square feet in diameter.

The ritual itself relied on ancient magic and the healing powers of the place where it was cast. Within half an hour, everything was prepared, and the teenagers looked at the last rays of the dying sun that filtered through the leaves on this July 26th of 1995. Tonight would be the New Moon, but right now, before the night had reached its peak, the Dark Moon would provide the perfect circumstances for a rejuvenation ritual. They had been quite rushed to get everything together to even think about attempting it, but Voldemort had been too eager to get his body back finally. Delaying until July was not an option.

Hermione averted her eyes when Harry sank into the pool skyclad, ring and locket the only decorations adorning his body. Voldemort held the diadem and the cup. Nagini slipped into the waters behind them. The giant snake was surprisingly graceful when she circled them. It was pitch black when Barty intoned the ritual, pouring potions and elixirs, crushed crystals and herbs into the pool.

"Per os patris ignara dedit, et renovare tui."

The unknowingly given bone of Tom Riddle Senior was dumped into the waters to renew his son.

"Servus autem sanguis, libenter dedisset, vivifica tuus dabit tibi."

Instead of the limb, Wormtail might have offered, Barty cut open his arm wrist to elbow, letting his blood flow into the pool, to revive his master. Ron healed the cut when the Death Eater started to sway. Now only one ingredient was missing - the one Harry had to give.

"Vivere est amicus sponte obtulerunt tu autem animam tuam resurrectionem mate."

>Live of a friend, freely offered, you will resurrect your soul mate.< They have discussed this last line at length. Hermione had been adamant that Harry offering his life would cost it. But her friend had assured her, that only a part of his life-force would be needed to revive Voldemort's new body. Together with his horcrux, it might weaken him, but surely not to a dangerous level. Tom Riddle's line was last.

"Partes animae collatis me totum."

All pieces of his soul brought together would make him whole again. At least that was the theory.

When the ritual started, a blinding light filled the pool as if the water had turned into a giant Lumos. When the pull started, Barty reached for Ron and Hermione and apparated them away. Once they were back at the Manor, Hermione barreling against his chest, screaming, "Bring us back! We don't know what's happening. They could need our help!"

With more sanity than they had ever seen in his eyes, Barty Crouch told them, "If we return now, this ritual will not only cost Harry's life but yours too."

Holding back Hermione, who started to tremble in defeated fury, Ron studied the Death Eater. "You knew that this would happen. That Voldemort's resurrection would need more than bone of the father and flesh of the servant and all the crap. It would need Harry."

The wizard nodded.

"And Harry knew it too."

Barty hesitated but nodded in the end. "Let us say your friend had a strong suspicion."

Hermione started to scream, fight Ron's grip, but the redhead did not let go. Instead, he responded calmly, "Harry has beat worse odds before. He'll be back."

Tonelessly Barty replied, "No, he won't. It was always his life for my masters. Lord Voldemort knew that, right from the beginning. He respects Harry Potter, but he can do more to save our world than any teenager."

Smiling joylessly, holding Hermione together, Ron challenged, "Wanna bet?"

* * *


	4. June 26th 1995

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This year has been tough for all of us, so close your eyes, take a breath and enjoy a very, merry Christmas with those dear to you.  
> Hugs and Kisses and all my Love.  
> Anchanee

It hurt, god how much this hurt. But Harry was determined to hold on until the power exchange was completed. He hoped he would not drown, or die from magical exhaustion, but was prepared for it. It was not as if he could expect Voldemort to save him.

The young Lord had used this last week to put his affairs in order, while Ron had been in and out of Grimmauld Place. Harry had gone over his inheritance from both the Potter and the Black family. He had set up a fund for Fred and George's joke shop. Ten-Thousand galleons would make a suitable starting point. The only stipulation had been them setting up a foundation from ten percent of their winnings to help children from low-income backgrounds. No more going to Hogwarts with second-hand robes.

Ron would be the heir of the Black family. Since all purebloods were distantly related, he had found one of Ron's ancestors to anchor the inheritance. The goblin who had accompanied him on his first trip to Gringotts, Ironclaw, had been particularly helpful in that matter. That Bill had joined him to these meetings had been a tremendous relief, especially since Ron had assured him that he was in the known. Harry was more than grateful for Bill's input. Yet, when he had offered monetary compensation, the redhead had only shaken his head. "Ron always had it hardest. He's no curse-breaker, though he certainly would have the mindset for it, not fearless like Charly, not studious like Percy and not ingenious like Fred and George. He's not even a girl. Hence, he's easily overlooked, just the 'youngest Weasley boy'. You are elevating him above all others. There this nothing I could offer, that would ever make up for what you are doing for my little brother. It is I who is in your debt, Harry."

Hermione would receive the Potter holdings, houses, and companies. Though one, tiny cottage by the sea, surrounded by several acres of wood, was excluded, willed to someone else, by name and deed. The Potter charter allowed a non-pureblood heir, and Harry intended to make full use of that stipulation. The Potters also held several seats in the Wizengamot, not only Potter but Peverell as well - quite ancient seats Harry had learned - with a lot of influence. With such a political pull, and Ron by her side to throw in the Black-seats as a backup, his brilliant witch would change the world.

Voldemort had agreed to a binding oath. The only demand Harry had had for going into the ritual, to protect his friends and those they held dear.

The cottage by the sea, he had set aside for Severus Snape. Maybe it was the grudging respect of his father, perhaps the look in his mother's eyes, when she had talked about the hated Potion Master. Somehow this felt right. It was such a minor thing compared to the rest. Harry had not felt like taking anything away from his friends.

That's why he was doing his damn best to hold on to Voldemort, grasping for his hands, when the man's body filled out and grew in his arms. He could do this, so his friends would be safe.

* * *

It was ecstasy and agony. Tom had not imagined resurrection to be so painful, so full of regrets. He had read that to re-absorb a Horcrux, one needed to regret the death that had created it. But it was hard when feeling righteous for killing his traitor of a father or grandfather for abandoning his mother. Still, he wanted to be whole, so he tried. With every Horcrux that returned to him, he felt more remorse. Nagini gave up her soul-shard easily. The cup put up no resistance either. Then the diadem and the locket were absorbed. It was more challenging with the ring because he had hated the old man with all his heart, but in the end, it became nothing more than a worthless trinket on his former enemy's finger. Lastly, he started to pull on the shard of the lightning bolt scar that adorned the 'Boy who Lived's' forehead. The tiny fraction of his soul slipped out, but when it came to the remains of the diary, the young man put up a fight. Livid that the ritual refused to complete, Voldemort started to pull with all of his soul until the battle of wills had him lose consciousness.

They were floating in impenetrable darkness. Tom felt Harry's hand in his, desperately holding on. When he wove their fingers together, the frantic young man stilled. He felt the stone of the Gaunt ring slicing into the skin of his palm but paid it no mind. Then, images formed around them. He recognised the Potters, and another young woman, who looked at him with so much love that he felt like drowning. Her voice was full of regret when she whispered, "Oh, Tom. I am so sorry."

That could not … there was no way! "Mother?"

"Oh, my precious little boy," the gaunt woman reached out. Her hand covered his cheek, and though it was insubstantial, like smoke in the wind, he felt something, something he could not describe, cold and warm, light and heavy at the same time. It filled his body, his very soul, and he sobbed. He wanted to touch her in return, but that blasted boy would not let go of his hands. So, all he could do was drinking in the sight of the young woman who had given life to him and then abandoned him at an orphanage.

Remorseful, she whispered, "I am so sorry, sweetheart. I wanted … I wanted to know you, to raise you, but I could not. I was weak. I tried to give you the best chances in life. Wool's orphanage was said to be rich and prosperous. They did not stuff dozens of children into tiny rooms. There were uniforms and always enough food. They even took me in. I'm so sorry that they hurt you. They were so wrong not to see how extraordinary you are."

"Mother, I …"

He had always believed that he hated his mother. That he would curse her should he ever lay eyes on her. But this young woman, barely more than a girl, told him that she had tried her best, no matter how pitiful those efforts had been. She had not been malicious or neglecting like his father and grandfather. In the end, there was only one thing he could say, something he felt was long overdue, "I forgive you."

The tears that streamed down her eyes were ones of joy, and somehow, they made her look years younger, invigorated like a young woman any man could fall in love with. Looking for the spectres that surrounded Harry, she turned towards him once again, looking solemn. "Listen, Tom. I have tried to watch over you, and though I could not do anything, I can tell you the truth."

"The prophecy?"

Smiling, she shook his head. "No, your little soulmate can tell you about that."

"He's not my soulmate any longer. The Horcruxes are back where they belong. He's not important any longer."

"Are you sure?"

Before Voldemort could think this through, his mother spoke again. "There is something you must remember when this is all over: listen to Harry. Fate set you on a path together, and this young man can help you reach unimaginable heights. Not because you clawed them from every witch and wizard of Britain, but because they will succumb to you. It won't be easy, and it won't be quick, but he has better ideas about how to gain unwavering loyalty than you."

"He's but a boy."

"But he has known love for the first year of his life. And he has re-learned it during the last four years. I wish you could see him the way we do, my darling. He is shining so bright, willing to give himself up for the sake of those around him. You need to protect him, make sure people don't take advantage."

"People like Dumbledore."

"Exactly, people like Dumbledore. He always preaches about this 'greater good', but in the end, he has the wrong ideas. If you do not value every single magical life, light and dark, human and creature, you are doomed to fail. Life and magic need balance. Without it, we will fall."

Tom was not sure if his next words were an accusation or a statement. He just had to know before he could walk his path anew. "Dumbledore said that I could never know love because I was conceived without it."

Frowning, his mother inquired, "Because of the Amortentia?" When he nodded, she shook her head, "Oh love, Dumbledore could not be more wrong. Yes, I made a mistake when dousing your father, but you have no idea how I felt when he finally wrapped his arms around me. I was so blissfully happy and so very much in love. Your father's love might have been magically induced, but mine was always real. And believe me, sweetheart, I loved you so very much. For the nine months, I carried you under my heart and even those few, precious hours I could hold you after you were born. So, forget these foolish words. If you find someone worthy of your love, I know that you will be able to love him or her back. I know that it can be scary because it gives those you love power over you, and I know first-hand how that can break you. But it will always be your choice to risk it. And even if I chose the wrong man, he gave me you, and I can never regret that!"

"Mother, I …" He wanted to say more, to know more. He had hated his mother for so long, for her weakness and her fear. But now … now it was not enough seeing her like a spectre. He needed.

"No, my darling. You have to let go now. Harry will be here to support and guide you. If you let him, he can teach you compassion. Together, you can be unstoppable. You only need to give him a chance."

Then, she drifted away, as Tom Riddle felt Harry Potter's hand slip out of his grasp.

* * *

"Mum! Dad! What are you doing here?"

Smiling, his mother gestured at the clutched hands. "We thought to take advantage of the second Peverell heirloom that has come into your possession."

"The second?"

"My invisibility cloak being the first," James explained. "It was given to me by my father, who received it from his father and so on back to the original owner Ignotus Peverell. The stone on the ring was inherited through the Slytherin and Gaunt line from Cadmus. You are fortunate that Tom handed it over so easily as that now makes it yours."

"I don't understand."

"Read the Tale of the Three Brothers. I am sure you will find it quite educational. Only one Hallow is missing to complete your set. But I am sure it will come to you eventually." His father advised with a smile.

"Listen, baby," his mother interrupted them, "there is something I need to ask of you."

"Of course, mum, anything," Harry replied eagerly. He was so deliriously happy to see them again. Maybe it was the drain of power that made him light-headed or the warm water of the pool that kept him afloat but right this second; he wished this moment would never end.

"It's about Severus. I … we were friends, once upon a time and then circumstances changed … we drifted apart. Your father and the other Marauders were right bastards to him," when James wanted to protest, she cut him off with an impatient gesture. "And though that did not give him the right to insult me, I was wrong not to accept his apology. For years I have felt like I have pushed him at Voldemort and asked myself if I could have spared him all this suffering, had I only taken his hand. He made a horrible mistake, and it cost our family everything, but … but he felt honest remorse when he realised what he had done. He even went to Dumbledore to request protection for our family. The headmaster used Severus guilt against him, forced him to become a spy. The day I died Severus swore that he would protect you. It hurts him to see your father in you, but he still kept his promise. Please, try to at least respect him for that."

When he looked at his father, the spectre nodded solemnly, "Severus Snape might have made a mistake, but he is not a bad person. I was, in school, because I was jealous of his friendship with Lily; and Sirius … well, he wasn't any better. Remus was the only one half-way decent, but him being a werewolf …"

"What did Snape do?" Harry wanted to know.

Helplessly his parents traded a look. His father wanted to tell him, but his mother was pleading with her eyes not to. Maybe she was afraid that Harry would hold back any support he could offer. What could the man have done that was so horrible?

"Ever since our death, his only loyalty was to you. Use that, son," James advised. "You need to be clever and cunning. Voldemort marked you as his equal, and your soul seems reluctant to give up his 17-year-old self."

Confused, Harry shook his head, "But the ritual should have combined his pieces again."

"Not all of them," his mother whispered, nodded towards a see-through figure, lingering at the outside of their circle, then she slipped away.

* * *

The two wizards became aware of each other once their parents had drifted away. Vibrant green eyes met tired red ones before both turned into the direction Lily Potter had indicated. It was an impression of the young Tom Riddle who had torn his soul apart with the help of a basilisk.

Impatiently, Voldemort commanded, "Return to me!"

Yet the young Tom Riddle shook his head. "No. I am more Harry's or even Ginny's than I am yours. As the seventh Weasley child is not available, I chose Harry Potter."

"He does not even want you!" The Dark Lord hissed. "This ritual was about making me whole again!"

Looking at the images of the two wizards that were the same and yet not, Harry contradicted, "That's not true."

"How dare you! You promised you would see this through!"

Smiling, Harry let go of one of Voldemort's hands and offered it to the spectre. "And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal."

"What?" Both Tom Riddles spoke in unison.

"You wanted to know the prophecy. That is the third line. You gave me a piece of your soul when you tried to kill me, thus marking me as your equal. I won't give that up. We agreed to do this together!"

Hissing angrily, Voldemort contradicted, "You were not even supposed to survive tonight!"

Harry grinned, "So you read it too. I went great lengths to keep it from Hermione. Otherwise, she would have never let me come. But I have to say given the circumstances, I am reluctant to go. He will return to me, and I will stay by your side to make you whole. That will fulfil the demands of my oath, even without me dying."

The young Tom Riddle looked at his counterpart, "Our diary was an extraordinary piece of magic. Ready to absorb fractions of souls when people used it. Harry Potter freed Ginny's soul when he put a basilisk fang through it, forcing me to give up most of her soul. But I am still more than before, a little bit of Ginny and a good part of Harry. I will mend with him, keeping one Horcrux intact so Death will never get a hold on us. Now, let go!"

It was like Voldemort felt the iron grip, he had had on his soul-piece lessen until it could drift away. For a heartbeat, he feared that it would disappear into the ether. But then he noticed Harry holding fast. The spectre floated over to the young man and merged with him. Meeting Harry Potter's eyes, he could see a red tint colouring them brown. After a heartbeat, the vibrant green was back.

"So mote it be."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been going over what I've written in November this last week and, to my everlasting surprise, it's not that bad. NaNoWriMo is about just getting the story out, not producing quality material. So imagine my puzzlement, when I actually enjoyed it and not cringe every other sentence. While I still lack ... something, I think I will continue posting.  
> However, I could really, really do with a betareader. If you feel up for it, let me know :). I would be ever so grateful.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to fLuffyMan für being my betareader, despite our time-zones that could not be more different :).

When they came back to themselves, the night was still pitch black. Fortunately, the faint light of the pool was enough to illuminate their surroundings. While Harry scrambled out of the water, flopping down on a makeshift towel, he had transformed his shirt into. Voldemort dove for the cup they had lost during the ritual. Curiously, the younger wizard took off the locket but kept the ring. Somehow it felt right to keep this one as a memento of the occasion. Also, his mother might be right that there was more to this jewellery than it being a family heirloom. Voldemort looked like a drowned rat when he sank on the fabric beside him. Harry could not help but start laughing, full, amused, belly-aching laughs. He did not know how, but he felt more alive and happy right this second than ever felt before. A handsome wizard in his mid-thirties, soaking wet, hair stuck to his head, had scrambled out of a pool; holding a cup, carrying a tiara crooked on is head, shaking himself like a wet dog. It was all so very absurd! After a few moments, the Dark Lord studied him for several moments, but then the night was filled with their laughter.

A while later, Nagini approached, hissing angrily at them for scaring away any potential prey. Finally, the young wizard calmed and turned towards his … his soulmate. "You are a right bastard, you know. Using the life of a teenager to resurrect yourself."

Turning as well, propping himself up on his elbow, Voldemort … Tom Riddle, pointed at himself nonchalantly, "Dark Lord. Being ruthless is kind of my job description." When Harry glared, the man admitted, "I feel a tiny bit bad about it."

"Really?"

Holding thumb and index finger about half an inch apart, the older wizard grinned, "About that much."

"It's a start, I guess." Harry shook his head, exasperated at the wet hair that was plastered to his forehead.

The older man reached out, as if to straighten the strands, but hesitated before making contact. The young Horcrux had noticed that them being close had eased him, but that Voldemort was reluctant to give in to that comfort. Was that trained behaviour, Harry wondered, or general reluctance to accept a comforting touch because he had not experienced something similar in the past? "Let me try something," he requested quietly. Frowning, the other nodded after a moment, making the young man scoot closer, resting his head on the Dark Lord's shoulder. Tom stiffened but said nothing.

"I am not sure if I feel comfortable like this," he admitted after a while.

"Because of the contact, or because it's me?"

Pondering the question, the older wizard admitted, "I think the fact that it is you, is the only thing that makes it bearable. In the past … I … did not enjoy being touched."

Wiggling into a more comfortable position, glancing up at the trees that reflected the water of the pool, Harry advised, "Touch is a powerful tool to strengthen connections. Barty … whenever you were especially cruel to him, he came into my bed to seek comfort."

"Bartemius took advantage of you?" The man inquired with cold fury.

"No," Harry shook his head, "God, no! Not like that! He just … he said that being close to me eased him. It made him feel better when he was convinced that he has failed you. It would be so much more effective if you would allow him to seek you out."

"Barty is loyal beyond reproach."

"I am aware. But if you gave in a little, he would rise above himself. I know he would. He is smart and devoted. I don't think you will find a more loyal follower."

"My entire inner circle is made up of loyal followers. Malfoy, the Lestranges, Nott, Snape …"

Harry snorted.

"What's so funny?" The man snapped.

"Snape's mine."

Rising, repositioning Harry rudely, the Dark Lord challenged, "Certainly not! Severus Snape has been a loyal follower of mine ever since his sixth year. He is even spying on Dumbledore for me."

Sitting up, grinning, Harry challenged, "Wanna bet?"

"You are mad!"

With a cunning smile, the young wizard proposed, "A test then. If he chooses me, he is mine, and you will not touch him again. You will remove the Dark Mark and let me claim him. If not, you will know without the shadow of a doubt that your Potion Master is beyond reproach."

"There is hardly any gain for me in this arrangement."

"Well …" Harry thought. "What about me trying to recruit at Hogwarts for our cause?"

"You want to bring me more Death Eaters?" Mistrustful, the man studied his counterpart.

"No, I will convince my classmates, and everyone I can get a hold on that your ideas are the right ones for all of us once we have thought them through. They will be mine, but I will throw my full weight behind every decision you make."

"You plan to amass followers for yourself?"

"I …" Harry hesitated. After a few minutes, he admitted, somewhat puzzled. "Yes."

Tom Riddle's grin was like that of a snake. "A good idea. Gather people you can trust, and it will be much easier to spread our convictions amongst the student population."

Eyes growing wide, the young wizard cursed, "This is you! This is your fucking Horcrux giving me ideas! Make it stop!"

Delighted, the other admitted, "I can't make it stop. You accepted my Horcrux out of your own, free will. So, what he knows and believes, is yours to use."

"I … I hate you," Harry mumbled, but the Dark Lord did not stop grinning. "I won't torture them or belittle them. These people are my friends and will be treated as such!"

Shrugging, the man started to summon the paraphernalia they had spread around the pool. "It doesn't matter either way. We can call it an experiment. Me reigning through fear, you reigning through kindness. Let us see who gets further."

Standing up, jerking on his clothes, the teenager grumbled angrily. "Fucking Horcrux. Fucking Dark Lord. Fucking war."

"Oh, Harry," the man stepped up to the teenager, kissing his head. "You have so much to learn." Then both froze.

A slow, vicious smile spread over Harry's face. "It seems that the exchange goes both ways."

"Shut up and pick up after yourself. These are priceless artefacts I'll have you know."

Chuckling, the young man did as told. Maybe this would work out after all. If the price of Voldemort becoming kinder was Harry becoming a little more calculating, he was willing to pay it. After all, the sorting hat had wanted him in Slytherin in the first place.

* * *

They apparated directly to the living room of the Manor. Hermione lay curled up on Ron's lap, sound asleep. Ron jerked when they appeared, only grinning tiredly at Barty, who lay curled up in an armchair. "I win," before dozing off again.

The Death Eater immediately scrambled to his feet, sinking to his knees before his Lord, "Master, I …" but Tom waved him away. "Got to bed, Barty. Tonight, I have no further use of you." Then he reached out and briefly touched his Death Eater's head.

Harry believed that he could hear a sob being swallowed before he followed the Dark Lord into the small library.

"Stop that inane grin!"

"I'm not grinning."

Looking at his equal, rolling his eyes, when he noticed that Harry so was, Voldemort commanded, "Sit down. We have to make plans."

Nodding, the young Lord spread out the folder where his inheritance was detailed, before sinking into an armchair. "Do you think we could …" Before he could finish, a sleepy Winky popped in with a huge tray. "Master Barty said that you might be hungry, Master Dark Lord. Winky is sorry that she has no dinner ready."

When the tray was set down, Riddle picked up the house-elf at the scruff of her neck. "No punishing yourself. This will do nicely." The tense elf relaxed before leaving.

"That was nice of you."

Helping himself to one of the richly stuffed sandwiches and a cup of tea, the older man grumbled, "No need to be insulting."

Polishing off three sandwiches, a bowl of fruit and a dozen biscuits each, washing it down with about an entire pot of tea, Harry and Tom went over the younger man's finances and holdings. They agreed that this run-down Manor would not do. They needed a residence that could be spelt with an inch of its life and still be big enough to house the two, and whoever members of their Inner Circles decided to stay with them.

"I don't feel comfortable offering Potter Manor. It's too noticeable and … and you did kill my parents."

"I thought your parents were alright with you siding with me."

Rolling his eyes, Harry admitted, "They think me a positive influence. But that doesn't change what you have done."

"You give too much stock into such petty emotions."

"And you too little. Just wait until we do our little test. Then you will see how much love and friendship can cost you if you neglect to respect them."

Determined, the Dark Lord contradicted, "Severus Snape is loyal. He took a great risk by accepting the teaching post at Hogwarts. The insight he brought me over the years was invaluable."

Shrugging, Harry turned back to the matter at hand. "Aren't you related to the Peverell Family? I mean your ring did contain one of the Hallows."

"Hallows?"

"Long story," the teenager brushed the question away, but before he could continue, the Dark Lord demanded, "I will have my ring now."

"No."

"No?"

"No. If you don't plan on cutting it off my finger, I will keep it."

Angrily, the man hissed, "This is an heirloom."

"And I am your soulmate. Consider it a gift to show me my value."

"That's not how it works!"

Once again, Harry changed the subject, "Don't the Peverells have an old Manor? There is this piece of land mentioned here, but no house. It seems to contain several farms and an orchard. Don't you think it's unlikely that they had land but nothing to live in?"

Rising, the Dark Lord summoned some robes for himself and Harry. "Let's go to Gringotts."

"Now?"

"Excuse me," the man mocked, "are you tired? Past your bedtime, child? Am I supposed to tuck you in?"

"No need to be a bastard about it!" The young man mumbled, slipping into a robe that fit him surprisingly well. "But honestly, no, I am not tired at all. I feel like I have slept for a week and am ready to go for even longer."

Nodding, the Dark Lord guided them. "I feel the same. It is like the ritual has charged us far beyond our normal energy levels. Let us make the most of it."

Stepping up, Harry hugged the taller figure. In a way, it felt good to be close to Tom Riddle. Maybe that was the Horcrux part of him. Yet, when the older man wrapped his arms around him, the orphan wondered for a heartbeat if it wasn't just the first adult in his life, showing him care and not ridicule or abuse. He couldn't be sure, but the Dark Lord's voice in his head, assured him, 'I will never let anyone hurt you, ever again, my Harry. You are safe with me.' Then the nauseating pull of apparition dragged them away.

* * *

Gringotts was, as expected. The goblin they encountered, did not even blink when Tom Marvolo Riddle introduced himself and politely asked for the account manager of the Riddle and Gaunt family. As it turned out, both families had been thrown into a 'generic' teller pool, to be pulled out by whatever goblin got the first request. Hesitating for a heartbeat, Harry requested Ironclaw. In the end, it would be easier to have all of their assets managed by one goblin. That, and Bill seemed to trust that particular teller. More or less …

It was past seven in the morning when Harry and Tom left the bank. There had indeed been a vast Manor located on the property Harry had found in his portfolio. Ignotus had owned the orchards and farms of the Peverell estate, Cadmus the main Manor and Antioch all vineyards and a few villages in the area. Yet since he was without an heir, those settlements were more or less self-sufficient with the profits amassing in Antioch's vaults. Fun fact: the house Harry had set aside for Severus Snape at his mother's request, was located at the edge of the Peverell property, near the ocean. So they would be neighbours after all. The young man was a little concerned about Voldemort's reaction, once Snape's betrayal had been proven without the shadow of a doubt. Maybe he should protect the property somehow?

"Twilfitt and Tattings next," the Dark Lord decided, "I refuse to walk around in conjured robes. And you are hardly dressed suitably either."

"I have clothes at Hogwarts," Harry protested.

Studying the young man, who avoided his eyes, the man inquired, "Clothes suitable for my equal?"

Deflating, the young man trudged along but stopped when they passed a bakery. "Can we at least have breakfast before we're getting prodded by needles?"

Breakfast it was. Tom had not wanted to admit to it, but he was famished. It seemed that the energy they were able to maintain, needed a lot of fuel. After both had eaten their fill, enough for two grown men each, they entered the elegant tailor in the southern part of Diagon Alley. Snorting, Harry mumbled, "Not willing to share a tailor with muggleborn and half-bloods?"

"As we both are half-bloods, that would be rather hypocritical, don't you think?" The Dark Lord waved his wand over Harry at the threshold before entering as if he owned the shop. "Tattings just has a much broader range, and we are both in dire need of a wardrobe overhaul."

"Lord …," a young employee entered the shop from behind a curtain, looking expectedly at these new customers.

Trading a brief look, the Dark Lord stepped forth, "Lord Thomas Cadmus Peverell and my charge Harrison Ignotus Peverell. We have recently come to England from warmer climates and are in dire need of a suitable wardrobe. An acquaintance of mine, the Lady Narcissa Malfoy recommended your establishment."

Pleased, the young man bowed and offered seats and a catalogue of fabrics and cuts, before rushing out to get one of his superiors to tend to such important customers.

Harry Potter going clothes shopping with an unknown wizard would be somewhat suspicious. Looking at himself in the mirror, the teenager admired the miniscule facial changes Tom's glamour had created. His eyes were of a bright blue, matching those of his companion and his dark brown hair, reached past his shoulders. It was a rather nice change from his usual unruly short, black strands. Maybe he should grow it out? "Is it smart to have a wardrobe fitted for this larger form when they won't fit me later?"

"I did not change your hight or general build, nor your overall colour scheme."

"But I …" Harry looked at himself in the mirror. He felt taller. Maybe the full mirrors Twilfitt and Tattings used were smaller than those of Madam Malkins? He studied the handsome man that had stepped up behind him. Tom still looked very much like himself; only his eyes matched Harry's. "Yes, you have grown. I assume that the power of the ritual healed some of the damage you have suffered in the past. Malnutrition and abuse are rarely conducive for healthy growth."

Averting his eyes, the younger man only looked up, when Tom forced his chin. "Don't be ashamed, _*my Horcrux*_." The notation in parseltongue was becoming an endearment. "The fault is theirs, not yours. I was mistreated in my youth as well. Narrow-minded muggles tried to exorcise me when I showed signs of accidental magic. And let me tell you, no matter how little arcane strength the average priest possesses, being flayed is always a painful experience." Never before had he been so open with anybody. Yet a part of him, maybe the part Harry had given freely during the ritual, convinced him that he could share everything with this young man. He did not even hesitate to wrap his arms around the teenager, when the young man buried into his chest, hot tears seeping through the fabric. Tom cast a silencing charm but need not have bothered. Harry was as quiet in his suffering as he had been in his youth.

Only when the young man had composed himself, did Mr. Twilfitt Jr. enter. Discretion seemed to be still valued in these businesses. The Dark Lord appreciated it. Not only because he had no intention of being caught in an embrace, but because he did not want to cause undue embarrassment for his young charge. Nodding politely, they started talking business. Now and then Harry tried to offer an opinion, but a scathing look shut the muggle-raised wizard right up. The only thing the teenager was adamant about was ruffles, not at the wrists, not at the collar and certainly not at the end of the robes, no matter if they were short or long. Since Tom was not particularly fond of such embellishments, he folded to that whim.

All in all, they left more than one-thousand gallons in the shop, ordering everything that could be needed from underwear to socks, trousers, shirts and dress-shirts, vests, jackets, pullovers, robes both long and short and even two pairs of jeans for Harry. The jeans were only added after the young man had insisted quite vocally, that he needed something 'comfortable' to wear under his school robes. Even the impulsive acquisition of an entire outfit of finest black cotton, several sizes too big for Harry, was added to the list. Tom looked at him knowingly yet did not comment. The final, and undoubtedly most expensive addition, was a set of quidditch gear of sturdy leather, charmed to an inch of its capacity: trousers, jacket, gloves, boots. "I don't need such a wide array of spells. They are horrendously expensive!" Harry hissed at Tom when they discussed prices. Unemphatically, Tom looked down at him, "You forget that I have seen you during your first game where you nearly fell off your broom."

"That was _your_ fault!"

"No matter. I know your style. You will sacrifice your safety for the win. That is not acceptable any longer. So, it is either no quidditch for you or protective gear that actually can protect you!"

Grumbling weakly, but accepting that he was beaten, Harry relented. Tom was pleased when Mr. Twilfitt Jr. promised to deliver their wardrobe within the week to Peverell Manor. Next on the list was an owl.

"You want a pet?"

Rolling his eyes, the Dark Lord clarified. "I want to send letters. The Peverell estate comes with a sizable owlery, that needs to be filled."

Content, Harry followed him into Eeylops Owl Emporium. It was dark and warm and quiet. Most owls were sleeping. Swiftly Tom chose three small owls that were said to be excellent flyers, nesting in one cage together. Maybe it was their names that had drawn the Dark Lord, as ironical as that may seem, as they were called: Clotho (the Spinner), Lachesis (the Allotter) and Atropos (the Inflexible). Their demeanour, however, could not be more different from their namesakes. While the fates in Greek mythology were always described as severe, sometimes even sinister, Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos were downright cheery and quite excited at the prospect of being bought. Immediately the owls flocked to Tom after the cage-door had been opened. Two claimed his shoulders and one his head. That, however, was too much for the Dark Lord. He shooed Clotho away, who pouted henceforth on Harry's shoulder. Their colouring was brown and red and generally non-descriptive, severing their purpose for post owls very well. Despite his apparent reluctance to tolerate the moods of his new 'pets', the young teenager did notice the bag of owl treats Tom pocketed and fed his new companions over the next hour. Even Clotho seemed to come out of her pout at the prospect of treats.

Walking around the lively Diagon Alley, Harry found great comfort in being unrecognisable. He was free to window shop without suffering sideways glances or worse enthusiastic fans who cornered him to either thank or congratulate him for defeating the Dark Lord thirteen years ago. "I wish we could do this again."

"Shopping?" Until now, Tom had not had the impression that the younger wizard had enjoyed it all that much.

"No, just being out and about under glamour. Can we get ice-cream?"

"Sure." Following Harry to Fortescue’s, he watched his young charge and those around them. While most purebloods were polite and tilted their heads when they made eye contact, most avoided them, simply because neither was familiar. There was freedom in anonymity, Tom Riddle realised. All his life he had thrived for recognition, yet now, watching their community through Harry's eyes, he noticed how carefree he could be both in his actions and his demeanour as long as nobody knew who he was. Maybe he too should adopt a glamour to allow them to enjoy this more often.

* * *


	6. July 27th - July 30th 1995

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now tidied up by beta :).
> 
> * * *

"Harry, James Potter, where have you been?"

Harry flinched at Hermione's hysterical question. Ron only rolled his eyes. "I have to get back to Grimmauld Place. I will have a hard time explaining my absence as it is. I just wanted to make sure that your Dark Lord had not disposed of you and left you in a ditch."

Rolling his eyes, Harry pulled Hermione into his arms. "No disposing of in ditches has happened. Though he threatened to leave me behind at Twilfitt and Tattings because he thought two jeans and two dress-shirts no sufficient wardrobe."

"You were clothes shopping?" Hermione inquired somewhat incredulous.

Gesturing towards the direction the Dark Lord had slipped away, at her hysterics, he replied, "His idea. Dudley's hand me downs are an insult to my new status, or so he said."

Wiping tears off her face, the young witch decided, "I am not sure if I am comfortable with your 'status'. But a new wardrobe would certainly not go amiss. Was he … did he pay for it?"

"No!" Harry baulked, "My parents left me enough money; Sirius as well. Now that I am an adult, I have full access to it. That reminds me, Ron, could you pack up everything important. We'll relocate, and I don't want anything of yours to be left behind."

"I only have one bag," the redhead turned around to show it. "And since I've been here two days, things need to go through the wash anyway."

* * *

So, everything was set. Hermione gathered her things, and after packing up the library, they apparated to the coordinates the goblins had given the Dark Lord. Harry, once again in Tom's arms, Hermione in Barty's though there was no biting this time.

Standing in front of the building, Harry whispered breathlessly. "Am I dreaming?"

His mouth twitching only a little, Tom pinched his Horcrux.

"Ow!" Rubbing his arm, the teenager glared at him, before beaming brightly, "Race you into the hall," then dashed off, Hermione hot on his heels.

Following at a more sedated pace, the Dark Lord inquired conversationally, "How long do you think before they realise that the door is warded?"

Twitching slightly, the Death Eater glanced at the children, "I don't think it is for a Peverell heir, my Lord." He gestured towards Harry, who had thrown open the door and barged into the house.

"I did not expect that," the older wizard admitted. Once they reached the entrance hall, they found the teenagers gapping at the grandeur. The house had been impressive from the outside. However, Cadmus Peverell's descendants had made use of their magic and expanded the inside even more. Thus, the Manor gave a rather palace-like impression.

On a small table in the entrance hall a folder containing a map, few warnings on traps and wards, could be found. Tom handed one set over to Harry, copying the information, "You start right, I'll go left. We return here within the hour."

Nodding, Harry looked his map over, then shook his head, "No, if you give me the part with the library, I won't get Hermione out before midnight … tomorrow!"

"There is a library?" The girl piped up, trying to look at the map.

"No, tomorrow!" Her friend decided, "Tonight, we get a feeling of the place and chose our rooms. Also, guestrooms for you and Ron for when he comes over next."

"I'll be overrun by Gryffindors," the Dark Lord mumbled before wandering off.

Two hours later, the group gathered in the 'small' dining room. There were 'only' twelve seats, and it was closest to the kitchen. The goblins had promised to inform the house-elves about their arrival, and while Tom had made an effort to introduce himself and get to know the half-dozen elves that were bound to the estate, Hermione gapped at the neatly dressed creatures. Each wore a toga of finest linen with the Peverell Crest over the heart. It was still a napkin, but with the fine woven cords as belts and embellishments, they passed for uniforms. Since no wizard had been around for generations, it had left the elven parents to name their children. They had run with a theme.

There was Belladonna, who had introduced herself as the main cook and responsible for the vegetable and herbal garden. Daisy, who cared for the house, the cleaning and decorations – mostly flowers, of course. Rhodes was mainly responsible for maintaining the garden and sometimes helped his brother Briar with the orchards. The last two elves had Tom choke up, feeling as if the fates were still messing with his and Harry's life. Not a comfortable thought. The youngest girls, both barely twenty years old, had no set duties. They helped wherever they were needed. The elves all wore napkins following their names. Belladonna had chosen a dark cherry colour, while Daisy liked sunshine-yellow. Rhodes was clad in shimmering brown while his brother Briar sported dashing violet. After these general introductions, Tom had called upon Harry before joining the others in the dining room.

"Harry," he gestured at a white-clad elf, "this is your personal elf. She will make sure that all your needs are met. If you wish for something, call upon her."

Nodding, the teenager went to his knees, smiling at the young elf. "What is your name, sweetheart?"

"Lily"

The boy swayed, only Tom's hand on his shoulder kept him steady. With a calm voice, he introduced another elven-girl, that wore a purple napkin with black trimmings. "This is my elf: Merope."

"Oh, god," Harry choked. "They knew … they knew we would come."

Shaking his head, the Dark Lord forced himself to remain calm. "They could not have known. There is no way in heaven or earth that the elves of the Peverell family would have any knowledge about their future masters."

Rising from the floor, Harry clawed at Tom's arm, "Then explain this to me! Explain to me why these two elves, the only ones in the entire estate without fixed duties, carry the names of our mothers!"

"I can't," the Dark Lord sighed. Still, he gripped the young wizard's arm to offer comfort. Only after the teenager had calmed, did he prompted quietly, "Let's go and eat."

Hermione and Barty seemed reluctant to pierce the sombre mood by gushing over the beauty of the house. Finally, when lunch was finished, Belladonna popped up, "Master, was everything to your satisfaction?"

"Very much so, Belladonna. Thank you."

Beaming, the elf popped away.

Barty looked at his Lord like had never seen him before. Harry could not help but hide a smile behind the last sip of his drink. Apparently 'please' and 'thank you' had not been a part of the Dark Lord's vocabulary before. Well, it would not hurt to be kind to the elves. Harry only tuned in into the conversation when Hermione's voice reached a certain level, "You have to free them! Offer them pay! This is their home, you can't cast them out, but it is simply _wrong_ , to use them as slaves!"

Incredulously, Tom Riddle studied the young witch, then he turned towards Harry, "Is she serious?"

">S.P.E.W. - Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare< was Hermione's pet project last year. She was constantly knitting hats for the Hogwarts elves to find so that they could be free."

Coldly, the Dark Lord turned back, "You Miss Granger, are a perfect example of what is wrong with our society."

"Excuse me?" She spat out, "Just because I don't abide slave-labour?"

"No," the wizard rose. "you eagerly throw yourself into the concept of magic but refuse to understand that being a witch is more than waving wands and brewing potions. It requires a different mindset altogether. You can't apply muggle rules to our world! You and your fellow muggleborn only ever skim the surface, refusing to gain a deeper knowledge, thus, eroding our world from within. You will follow me."

"Master," Barty choked but did not dare to protest.

Harry had no such qualms, "What will you do to her? Remember, you swore an oath!"

Glaring at the three, Tom Riddle stated calmly, "I will do what Dumbledore and McGonagall should have done four years ago: _I will educate her!_ "

Then he left, a confused Hermione hot on his heels.

* * *

For the next few days, Barty and Harry saw very little of the two. Occasionally, they caught glimpses, through the windows of the library. Sometimes, Hermione gestured wildly, Tom calmly explaining something, getting up to fetch one book or the other, pointing at a paragraph or chapter. However, most of the time, they found Hermione nose-deep in a tome, scribbling furiously in a notebook. Harry was convinced that Tom offered new ones whenever she ran out.

* * *

Three days later, his best friend emerged. Until now, she had taken breakfast, lunch and tea in the library. Even getting her out to join them for diner had been a struggle. Harry had let her be, too familiar with that mannerism. He was currently lounging around in the extensive garden, enjoying the laziness of the summer holidays. He was debating how he should approach a certain Potion Master when a shadow fell over his face. Taking in her outfit and rucksack, he frowned, "You're leaving."

With a sigh, Hermione sat down beside him. "I'm already stretching my 'holiday'. Mum and dad really want us to spend some time together, though we won't go as far as Australia."

"Hermione, are you alright?" She looked worn and worried.

"I …" she looked over her shoulder towards the house. "Honestly, I don't know. Mr. Riddle has shown me so much … things, rituals, indisputable facts about the magical world I've never heard about! It's like wizards have this whole 'secret' society and muggleborn just trample in, not bothering to learn about it. I still think it's wrong of him to prosecute them for their lack of knowledge, but I also think it's as wrong of Dumbledore not to teach these things to first-years as soon as they come to Hogwarts. It's … it's a lot. I have to think about it."

"About what?" Why did this feel like a 'good-bye' and not a 'see you later'?

Chewing her bottom lip, Hermione admitted, "Because I feel like I'm doing the magical world a disservice by not respecting the beliefs and rules that are the foundation of magic."

Reaching for her hand, suddenly feeling cold all over, Harry demanded, "But you are coming back, aren't you?"

"Of course!" She leaned in, squeezing him with all her strength. He relaxed into the familiar hug. "I just … I want to think about where we should go from here. I think your Dark Lord's ideas are not all wrong. They are radical, and he went about them entirely the wrong way during the first war, but merging muggle and magical world … I don't think that's possible. We're too different. Don't get me wrong, I love my parents, and I would never give them up, but I think I have to make a choice. To protect the magical world, I have to be a muggle with them and a witch when I am with you. One mistake could put everything at risk."

Looking towards the house, somehow feeling Tom's eyes on him, Harry nodded. "I know what you mean. Wizards are dangerous, but muggles can cause so much more mayhem. And there are so many more of them than us. I thought about how to protect our world but … until now I feel like treading water, barely keeping myself afloat."

Squeezing him one last time before letting go, Hermione rose to her feet. "I'll be back, Harry, I promise. I'll spend two weeks with my parents and then I'll be back. We can talk about it and come up with a solution together. I never thought I would ever say that – especially not knowing what he did to your parents – but I think I like this new Tom Riddle. Sometimes he reminds me of you."

Weakly, the human Horcrux snorted, "I think the exchange went both ways. I feel myself acting far more ambitious and cunning than before."

Looking at her best friend, "Slytherins are clever. It would not do to underestimate them. And it was a Gryffindor who betrayed your parents. Hogwarts' houses don't define our characters or our actions, just the colours of our uniforms. I think it's time we start to make a change."

Nodding, Harry rose as well. "The three of us together, we'll find a way. And Tom will most likely give me free rein at Hogwarts. Our negotiations have nearly gone that far."

When his friend departed, Barty had offered to apparate her home; he went to the library to catch up with Tom.

* * *

"I can agree with you forming your own Inner Circle. But acting independently will not do!"

Sighing, Harry rubbed his head. They had been negotiating for hours. Voldemort had been a control freak, determined to manage every aspect of his campaign for magical superiority. That's why taking him out thirteen years ago, had more or less ended the war. Tom Marvolo Riddle did seem too keen on keeping everything in sight either. However, "I can't contact you for every little decision. You'll have to trust me eventually. If I know about your general plans, I can try to act accordingly. But if we don't want to risk open war with Dumbledore, I have to be sneaky."

"Cunning … you will have to be discrete and cunning!"

"I'm not a snake."

"No," the Dark Lord snapped, "you are a stupid lion, who thinks that jumping at a problem head-first, will solve it!"

Raising his chin, the teenager challenged, "Well, I will have a guiding influence with me at all times, won't I?"

"Severus Snape is mine! Always has been, always will be."

"We'll see."

With gritted teeth, Tom returned to their lesson on parsel magic. The mark of his followers had always served as a leash, as well as a protective tether. Harry had wanted to follow in these footsteps. However, the young man had made it quite clear that he disapproved of the 'punishment'-option. Yet the general concept, knowing where his friends were, reaching them and having them find him at all times, seemed like a good idea. It would just have to be at a more concealed spot than the wrist. Also, Harry had decided that he would not be opposed to being able to cast spells through the mark. A Protego at the right moment could save a life, after all.

* * *

Tom Riddle glared at Harry when the young man joined him for breakfast on June 30th. "You have an entirely new wardrobe. Why, by Merlin, do you insist on wearing these rags?"

"They will serve their purpose," Harry insisted. He had changed a lot over these last few weeks. Since he now had elves at his disposal that cared about cooking and cleaning, Harry had made use of his 'free' time. For a few hours out of each day, Harry studied in detail, what the Dark Lord had tried to cramp into Hermione's head in a weekend. He had started to fly as a workout routine, wanting to stay in shape. Not at all an easy task when Belladonna and Lily had decided that he was far too thin and were bribing him with snacks at every opportunity. Fortunately, the house-elves seemed to be firm believers in healthy food. Otherwise, Harry would weigh as much as Dudley by now. To do his wardrobe justice, he had gotten a stylish haircut that would allow him to grow his hair out, to make it more easily manageable. Six days ago, Barty had cautiously offered a present. Harry had not known how to react when he was given a set of eye potions. They had to be taken every evening for a week to correct Harry's eyesight. Even Voldemort had been impressed and had congratulated Barty on his foresight. The teenager wondered who had been more delighted that day, him for finally getting rid of his glasses or Barty for the absent-minded compliment.

True, Tom had gotten a lot better over the last few weeks, but he was hardly 'affectionate'. Harry, himself, made a point of touching the Dark Lord at every opportunity. He brushed over his arm, hugged him good morning and good night. It was a little bit like having a parent; Harry liked to imagine. With time, the man did not tense up but started to return these gestures tentatively. The Dark Lord had an image to uphold. But even Tom could see, what the 'positive re-enforcement' – as his Horcrux called it – did for Bartemius. The Death Eater was downright glowing, whenever he was around, not in the 'crackling-mad' way Bellatrix had preferred. There was a quiet joy to him; the Dark Lord did not find off-putting at all.

He and Harry had decided that they would call his Death Eaters that night. The young man had wanted to go into his new year by finally starting to make his own decisions. Hence, there had to be a reason why his young charge sat in oversized, worn hand-me-downs on this pleasant Sunday morning.#

"Care to share that purpose?"

"You'll see how Snape reacts to them. By the way, can you apply glamours, so that I look like before?"

"You mean, underfed, with an atrocious haircut and glasses?"

"I only need the haircut. Barty charmed my glasses so that they adapt to my eyesight. But I barely need them any longer. On the other hand … if you could make me look a little more gaunt, that would certainly play into the picture of the 'prisoner of war'."

Irritated, Tom hissed, "This charade is ridiculous!"

"Afraid to lose?"

"No! As I have said before, Severus Snape has been a loyal Death Eater since his school years. He is beyond reproach!"

Scratching his neck, enjoying the stylish cut, Harry whispered, because this spectacle would hurt either way, "I'm sorry, Tom, but I don't think that's true."

Glaring at his Horcrux, the wizard replied darkly, "We'll see."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've finished going over this story once, and have to say, I am pleasantly surprised how it turned out. Still, I could do with an editor who reads the story and can give me advice on a few scenes. If you feel up to it, please contact me. I hope all of you had a pleasant Christmas and a good start of the New Year.  
> Hugs and Cookies  
> Anchanee


	7. July 30th 1995

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I now not only have one but two beta-readers for my story. Many thanks to fLuffyMan and Cecicci für polishing my story to a shine. I feel also incredibly proud that Cecicci created some artwork for my story. It somehow embodies the feeling I had for Severus in this chapter perfectly.  
> Word of Caution: Please heed the updated tags!
> 
> * * *

The dark mark had gotten progressively darker over the last month. Severus had tried to hide it from Dumbledore, hoping that it would be enough for the man that he was running himself ragged, in his search for Potter. He did not want the added stress of spying on a potentially returned Dark Lord. But somehow, the older wizard had noticed, sending him out to meet old acquaintances, keeping an ear on the ground for any sign of Voldemort or Harry. Until now, all of his efforts had been in vain.

The Potion Master hissed during dinner when his mark started to burn. Trading a look with Dumbledore, hoping that the old man would tell him to at least be careful, he was disappointed, when he was merely told, "I expect a report, the moment you return." In the end, it was all about their golden boy or any insight he could gain in his old circles. No matter the cost for Severus.

"Of course," he bowed and left.

When he followed the pull, he found himself in a room, lit by a dozen candles. Through a half-open doorway, he could spot Lucius and Nott, both masked yet familiar enough to identify as well as several other Death Eaters he did not recognise at first glance. He sank to his knees when a dark figure stepped out of the shadows. "My Lord." Voldemort had returned, looking at least a decade younger than the last time Snape had seen him, pleading for Lily's life. What kind of magic had he employed to bring himself back to this youthful appearance? The Potion Master prayed that this new body had not come at the cost of Harry Potter's. He could not suffer another failure, not when it came to Lily's boy.

At a sharp gesture, the door slammed shut, and wards started to press down on them. Apparently, the Dark Lord was eager not to be overheard.

"Severus," That silky voice had made an appearance in so many of his nightmares, that he had a hard time suppressing a shiver when hearing it anew. "It is so good to see you. From what my followers have told me, you remained faithful, fortifying your position at Hogwarts, preparing young snakes for their place in the new world order."

Forcing himself to seal away all emotions, the Potion Master rose to his feet. Voldemort had always been impressed by gall, and though he kept his eyes downcast, Snape nodded. "I believed to act according to your wishes, my Lord."

"Very well." The man stepped closer; not even six feet remained between them. "To reward such faithfulness, I will let you, and only you, witness my greatest triumph."

"Master," the wizard choked, be terrified of what was about to happen.

Pulling back the invisibility cloak, Voldemort revealed the emaciated form of Harry Potter. The boy who was cowering at his feet, covering his head with his arms. The dark hair was matted against his head, his clothes made him appear even smaller, and his complexion was pasty at best. Only thanks to his occlumency, was Snape able to hold his ground. If he acted irrationally now, they would both die. He had to find a way out, at least for Harry!

"Do you," he swallowed through a constricting throat forcing himself to enunciate clearly, "Do you wish for me to dispose of this abomination, Master?"

Triumph lit up Voldemort's face as he pulled out his wand. "No, this nuisance, I will get rid of myself."

"Avada …"

Severus wand snapped into his hand as he shouted, " ** _Sectumsempra!_** " He could not fail in this. Not with Lily's boy. If the other Death Eaters tortured him to death; if they cursed him until he lost his mind; it did not matter, not compared to Harry's life!

"Protego!"

Snape faltered when a powerful shield flared up between his curse and the Dark Lord. Frozen in place, he watched Harry straighten from his crouch, slowly lowering his wand. The young man was healthy and whole, contrary to his gaunt appearance moments before. How was that possible? He looked up at Severus with an unreadable expression, as he said softly, "I told you. He's not been yours for a very long time."

All the anxiety and the stress suddenly caught up with Severus Snape; all the sleepless nights; the days apparating from place to place; chasing hints of the 'Boy-who-lived', only to find him having switched sides. Maybe Voldemort had broken him. Perhaps the Dark Lord had convinced him with honeyed words and charismatic smiles. The boy would not be the first to succumb to Voldemort's promises. But Severus was well aware that _he_ would not be part of this game any longer since he had given away his true allegiance. The Dark Lord gave an angry shout, directing his wand at him. In the end, an Avada Kedavra might be the fastest way to go. Sadly, he was not so lucky.

"Crucio!"

Snape broke to his knees, tears streaming down his face, though he would not cry out. He felt too deserving of this suffering for having failed Lily.

" **No**!"

Just like that, the pain ended. Disbelieving, it was now his turn to looked up at the teenager. Harry stood before him like a shield. Why?

"You promised," the young man shouted, clutching the wand he had taken from Voldemort while the Dark Lord was trembling with anger. "You promised that I could have him should he prove loyal to me!"

"He's a traitor!" The other hissed, making Snape flinch at the unpleasant memories of the snake language. "We will find someone better for you! Step aside and return my wand! I want to kill him now and rid us of this traitor!"

The accusation cut right to the core. But it was not as if the Dark Lord was wrong. Severus had lied, for more than a decade, now he was worthless for Dumbledore and Voldemort both since he had been discovered. As a half-blood in Slytherin, he had never amounted to much. His only saving grace had been the friendship with a muggleborn girl. A friendship he had lost, thanks to his pride. He had tried, so hard to protect her from afar. But in the end, had not even managed that. Had he been less of a coward, he might have found a way to finish off Voldemort before, maybe poison him, but …

"You promised," choked whispers brought Snape out of his mental tailspin. Was the boy crying? Certainly not over him. "You promised. But now you let your pain stand in the way of keeping that promise! I thought you would be different, that you …" Angry tears saturated Harry's voice. Yet the boy still stood before him, fists clenched at his sides.

"Why do you care so much about him? He's the reason your parents are dead!" Voldemort was spitting mad, screaming at Potter's face. "He was the one who gave me the prophecy. He is not worth your consideration!"

That revelation was like a knife to the stomach, twisting with every word. Snape felt the last of his strength seeping out of his body since no matter how much Harry Potter had fought for him, nobody could ever look at their parents' killer kindly. His eyes flew up when the teenager whispered, "I know."

Snape choked.

"Still," he insisted, somewhat calmer. "We had a deal. I have proven Severus Snape's loyalties. You promised that I could claim him. Now you go back on your word … I can't do this …"

Why? Why not simply kill him? For the betrayal of his best friend, he deserved nothing less. Then there was a sharp gesture, and a bloody wand tumbled to the floor.

" **NO!** " There was a hysteric note filling the air, and the Potion Master watched a bloodstain bloom on the carpet. What was happening? His overwhelmed mind had a hard time of makings sense of what was going on. Not paying attention was akin to a death sentence in Voldemort's presence. However, right now, he was ignored. Severus wondered if that was a good thing?

"Harry!" Such desperation … then, "Severus, help him!" An order from a voice he had been hard-wired to obey. Rising unsteadily, he stepped closer and watched Voldemort clutching Harry's wrist. Blood was flowing freely from between his fingers. The stupid boy had slashed his wrist. He reached out, yet the stubborn child pulled back, accusing. "No, you promised. I will not align myself with someone I cannot trust! I'd rather stay out of this conflict entirely rather than trade one manipulator for another!"

"By dying!" Voldemort hissed.

Slumping the blood loss was obviously getting to him, though it was far less than Severus would have anticipated. The man's heart clenched, when he heard the whisper, "I'm sick and tired of being but a pawn on someone's board."

"Heal him!" The Dark Lord ordered Severus.

"I can't …" the Potion Master admitted helplessly, "These wounds were self-inflicted. If he truly doesn't want to live, my magic won't be able to close them."

"Let him heal you!" Voldemort hissed at his disobedient charge.

"No. Not if you don't keep your promises." Tears were swimming in Potter's eyes … Lily's eyes … Severus felt like suffocating.

"Fine!" The Dark Lord spat out. "Let Snape heal you, and he's yours."

"You'll take his mark?"

"And leave him free for yours!" The wizard clenched his teeth. "As we've agreed."

Calmly the young man offered his wrist to Severus, not taking his eyes off the Dark Lord. The cut was diagonal and had barely grazed the bone. Within moments, it was closed, and the Potion Master held out a blood replenisher. The Dark Lord watched their interaction with hawk's eyes, and Severus was no longer strong enough to suppress the shivers that whacked his frame. He flinched, when Potter touched his arm, squeezing him reassuringly. "It's okay. It's over now, Professor."

"I don't …" he started but realised that he did not know how to continue. All this … it was too much. None of Dumbledore's carefully laid out plans had prepared him for this.

"Undress!"

The icy command had him look first at Voldemort and then at Potter. He could not understand why he felt the need to confirm an order from the Dark Lord with a teenager. When the boy started to open his mouth, the Dark Lord interrupted, "You will not contradict me on this! If he has indeed been working for Dumbledore to protect you, I do not trust a single thing he carries. I only allowed the potion because he obviously would never hurt you. Tonight, I will let him stay by your side if that is what you wish. But I won't give him a chance to deceive us again."

Nodding, the teenager turned towards him. Severus swallowed. So much trust in Harry's eyes, despite all the cruelties he had heaped upon the boy. "Will you stand by my side?"

Closing his eyes, as to not betray his emotions, a single tear escaped. He startled when he felt a warm hand, brushing it away. When was the last time someone had touched him like this? Poppy, probably, when he had gotten the wizard's flu a few years ago, but other than that? And the child had done it twice already, both times for no other reason than to reassure him. Was he ready to become a tool, or worse, a toy at Harry Potter's whim? If the young man had truly sided with Voldemort, could he even trust his intentions? After all, the prophecy had said … then Snape took a deep breath to halt his troubling thoughts. It did not matter. Even if he could rid himself of the mark, he knew that he could never turn his back. He did not even care what happened to him, as long as Potter was safe. Looking at the child, no, the young man before him, he nodded. He took off his clothes.

He dreaded facing all these wizards without his 'armour'. But if that were the extent of the vindictiveness the Dark Lord offered, he would suffer the humiliation. Anything, to be allowed to remain by Potter's side.

"Into the flames."

The hearth at his back flared up, and Snape tossed in his clothes, watching them burn. It felt like his entire life was reduced to ash. When he turned again, he found Potter and Voldemort standing side by side, his potions bag between them. He shivered at the implications of this picture. The prophecy had declared them enemies, but if they had overcome that … nobody in Wizarding Britain would be able to stand against them. "Please, be honest, Professor. Are there any potions in here that could harm?"

Slowly, the Potion Master nodded.

"Any priceless brews that take months to prepare?" The cold voice of Voldemort demanded to know.

"No, my … Lord Voldemort." What was he doing? Had he shifted allegiance already? Next, he would start calling Potter 'Master'. He still carried the Dark Mark. He needed to be more careful. Yet, everything about this situation was unsettling, and his occlumency shields refused to stay up. He gasped when the dark wizard carelessly threw the bag into the fire, containing the explosion with a simple shield. It felt like Voldemort had just destroyed a piece of himself. His potions … they were the only thing of value about him. And the Dark Lord had just thrown them away. Next, he would throw away Severus, as per Potter's insistence.

He managed to stand his ground when the man reached for his wrist and started to hiss in parseltongue. Pain raced up his arm. It felt like it was splitting open. Severus tumbled to his knees, but in an instant, a warm hand on his chest pressed him back, back against strong, soft clad legs to keep him half-way upright. He could not help but take comfort; to anchor himself to the touch as to not lose his mind. The spell lasted an eternity, but when the pain ended, he looked at his wrist. The skin was free from any blemish for the first time in nearly twenty years. A sob escaped him. He swallowed the next forcefully.

He swayed when the Dark Lord stepped back, and his anchor abandoned him. Confused, he looked up from his blank wrist, to notice that the boy had sunken to his knees before him. "For this to work, I have to mark you now."

"Not the wrist, please," Severus breathed, unsure if he could even make such a request. He felt lighter than he had in years. A heady feeling like he was floating.

"No," the young man smiled, caressing his face, and for a heartbeat, he allowed himself to lean into the touch. "Love makes a bond stronger than pain or fear. With your permission, I will put my mark right here." A gentle hand touched his chest, right over his heart. "I won't hurt you, and if it's within my power, I will protect you, as you've protected me. But I know that our lives are not easy. I might not always manage."

"You want to … protect me. Why?"

"Because if you guard me, I return the favour. That's how it works. It's the same with Ron or Hermione. We always look out for each other. We're friends."

Averting his eyes, the Potion Master mumbled, "I am not your friend."

"No," the boy whispered. No, he was a young man now. It would not do him any good to continue seeing Harry Potter as a child. "You are so much more."

When Severus met his eyes, he was taken aback by the emotions that swam in them. There were so many. But in the end, it did not matter, because most prominent was kindness. It had been so long since anybody had looked at him that way. Soon the boy would learn what type of person he was. The 'dungeon bat' might have been a persona he had adopted to keep himself safe, but he had never been 'nice' or 'friendly'. If Potter was not interested in potions, as his past suggested, he would soon learn that a servant like Severus Snape was of little use to him. Hopefully, his mark would not be easily broken. In the end, he could only nod, "Do it."

It was parselmagic, just like the original spell. But where Voldemort's mark had burned through him, shackled his soul, Potter's … Harry's was like a soft caress, like blankets wrapping around him to shield him from the cold. He felt magic waving them together, and he wondered if he would be able to protect himself from the boy … young man in the future. While the spell's tendrils were far gentler, they also reached a lot deeper into Severus' heart, body and soul. If he had anything left to lose, he would baulk now, try to guard a part of himself. But that was no longer an option. He had made a decision long ago, holding his best friend's dead body, swearing that he would protect her son. When Potter pulled his hand back, his body shut down.

* * *

When Severus came around, there was a quiet argument, "He's a traitor. He lied to me for the better part of his life! You can't trust him!"

What …? Potter and the Dark Lord were touching … the older wizard gently nudged the younger man's face up. But it was not a cruel gesture – as the Potion Master would have expected – more … worried?

"I know you're hurt. I was hurt too when I learned that I had been lied to about basically _everything_." Harry, touched Voldemort's arm, squeezing it lightly. "But Severus won't deceive to me."

"What makes you so sure? He was a faithful follower and then … just like that."

Sighing, the young man put his forehead against the other's, in a strange, intimate gestures. Were they … engaged? Harry was not even fifteen years old! "You killed his best friend, what did you expect?"

Far gentler than he had ever thought Voldemort capable, Snape watched as the man pushed Harry back so that their eyes could meet again. Didn't the boy know to avoid Voldemort's eyes? Has no one ever trained him in Occlumency? "She was _your_ mother. Yet here you are."

Sighing, Potter shook his head, "Maybe you're just the lesser of two evils."

"I'm insulted."

Nudging him playfully, the teenager challenged, "At least with you; I can be sure that you will never harm me."

"Never, my Harry," the Dark Lord assured, kissing the younger wizard's forehead swiftly. "But now let's begin. The others are waiting."

Severus was swaying as he got up. This was surreal! The seasoned spy felt like he was drowning in uncharted waters. Still, he straightened, when he felt the teenager's eyes on him. "I am ready."

"Good," with a gesture, a stack of clothes appeared. "Dress, then we'll go."

Those were fine clothes. The outer robes tingled under Snape's fingertips, which meant protective charms. Even a wand-holster and a belt-pouch were available. They were similar to his old ones, though of considerably better quality. When he opened the small bag, he found the standard healing potion, bruise salve, a headache reliever and a vial of dreamless sleep.

"I didn't know what you would need. I've made sure your laboratory is stocked, but for now, will these suffice?"

Considering the night, he was about to have, Severus was grateful for the dreamless sleep. He recognised the seal, and while he would have preferred something of his own making, this would do. While dressing, he admired the outfit's quality, soft wool pants, a cotton dress-shirt both seemingly black or at least a very dark grey; pants, socks and shoes; all of outstanding value. "I will return these clothes the first chance I get."

"Why?" Potter asked, confused, "They are yours."

"But they …" An ensemble was so formidable! It must have cost a hundred gallons easily. It was not silk or satin, not gaudy or flashy. Yet for the first time in his life, Severus felt like he did not need to hide when standing beside Lucius.

"Are adequate for your new position as my first advisor," the young man nodded.

Before he could elaborate, the Dark Lord ordered irritated, "If _his_ clothes have to be adequate, I expect yours to match! Also: masks."

Smiling, Harry indicated a bow and replied in a mocking tone, "As you wish, my Lord." Then he turned towards a sideboard and pulled out a similar outfit. The outer robe was black as well, but underneath he wore grey pants and a white dress shirt, with a matching waistcoat – all in all, a rather sophisticated ensemble. Lastly, the young man produced two masks. They were black and hid everything, even the eyes.

"Let's not give the game away too early," he handed one over.

"Most Death Eaters will recognise me for my build alone."

Chuckling, Harry put on his mask and raised the hood of his robe. He made an imposing figure; Snape had to admit. Had the young man grown this last month? Most importantly, however, he was utterly unrecognisable. His suspicion was confirmed when he heard the boy chuckle in an unfamiliar tone.

"You, certainly, but me … not a chance."

At the door, Voldemort looked back at them and held out his hand to Harry. The young man squeezed it briefly, before standing tall. "Let us change the world."

* * *


	8. July 30th & July 31st 1995

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of what Voldemort is saying in this chapter is shamelessly stolen from canon. But since fanfiction is all about stealing people/stories/worlds, I only feel a tiny bit bad about it. About this much (holds thumb and index-finger a quarter of an inch apart).
> 
> * * *

Everyone fell silent when the Dark Lord entered. At his gesture, Harry claimed one of two thronelike chairs at the head of the room. Severus hovered behind his right shoulder. The position gave him an unimpeded view of the room where the Death Eaters were arranging themselves in the standard orbit around their Master.

"Thirteen years since we last met. Yet you answer my call as though it was yesterday. We are still united under the Dark Mark, then! Or are we?" Leaving Harry at the head of the room, Lord Voldemort walked around the circle his followers had formed. "I see you all, whole and healthy, with your powers intact - such prompt appearances! - and I ask myself, why did this band of wizards never come to the aid of their Master, to whom they swore eternal loyalty to?" His steps remained quiet, his voice silky, as he continued, "I answer myself: they must have believed me broken, they thought I was gone. They slipped back among my enemies, and they pleaded innocence, ignorance, and bewitchment. And I ask myself, how could they have believed I would not rise again? They, who knew the steps I took, long ago, to guard myself against mortal death? They, who had seen proofs of my power, in the times when I was mightier than any wizard living? And I answer myself: perhaps they believed a still greater power could exist, one that could vanquish even Lord Voldemort, perhaps they now pay allegiance to another," Snape certainly did not imagine the icy glare the powerful wizard sent his way. "Perhaps that champion of commoners, of mudbloods and muggles, Albus Dumbledore?"

A few made vague noises of protest, but Voldemort spoke over them sadly, shaking his head mockingly, "I confess myself disappointed."

That broke at least one wizard out of his stunned state, "Master, forgive me! Forgive us all!"

"Crucio!"

Harry, did not even flinch. How much the boy had changed.

The Dark Lord finished his round and begun to approach the dais with the thrones; wand still raised on the death eater. Once seated, the curse ended. "Rise, Avery," he ordered softly. "You ask for forgiveness? I do not forgive. Nor do I forget. Thirteen long years … I want thirteen years' repayment before I forgive you." He gestured to the second throne. "Only one person in this room can claim my forgiveness. He was willing to trade his life for mine. From now on, he will sit by my side. His words will be heard. His advice valued. He will lead this new crusade from the shadows, aiding me in claiming the British Isles."

Snape did not startle when Harry reached back and grabbed his wrist. Expecting a command, he started to bow, but a brief squeeze interrupted the motion. The young man turned and was immediately granted the Dark Lord's undivided attention. _*If you expect me to command them, at least a few will need to learn my identity.*_

The Potion Master could not understand the hisses of parseltongue. The language still made him tense with fear. Yet now, inside his carefully guarded mind, the meaning revealed itself. Terror washed over him. Until now, the only thing belonging to him had been his thoughts. Neither Voldemort nor Dumbledore had ever been able to breach his formidable defences. Yet, his new Master had slipped by unnoticed. He clamped down on his panic. No weakness! Not here. Not now. But, oh god, … what had he by done accepting that mark? The hand slipped from his wrist. It made him feel strangely bereft. Clasping his skin behind his back to preserve the warmth, he stood still not to draw attention.

"Lucius, my slippery friend," Voldemort stated quietly, looking at the Death Eater who immediately stood up. "I am told that you have not renounced the old ways, though to the world you present a respectable face. You are still ready to take the lead in a spot of Muggle-torture, I believe? Yet you never tried to find me. Your exploits at the Quidditch World Cup were fun, I daresay, but wouldn't your energies have been better directed toward finding and aiding your master?"

"My Lord, I was constantly on the alert," Lucius Malfoy replied swiftly, only slightly muffled from beneath his hood. "Had there been any sign from you, any whisper of your whereabouts, I would have been at your side immediately, nothing could have prevented me …"

"And yet you ran from my Mark when a faithful Death Eater sent it into the sky last summer?" said Voldemort lazily, beckoning Barty over, smiling satisfied, when the man sank to his knees at the bottom of the platform. Malfoy startled. "Yes, I know all about that, Lucius. Still, you have disappointed me. I expect more faithful service in the future."

"Of course, my Lord, of course. You are merciful, thank you …" He froze when Harry chuckled and hissed something. This time, Severus did not understand. Instead of disturbing him, that eased his terror. It seemed that his mental defences were only but useless when they were in physical contact. He met his friend's eyes, though the other could not see it through his mask. The pureblood appeared confused, both by his attire and his new, elevated position. Yet he was in too tight of a spot to comment. For the first time in their lives, _he_ was the one who held a higher position. Maybe it was petty, but Severus drew satisfaction from that.

Rising, Voldemort ordered, "Leave now. I will call upon every one of you, to evaluate if you are a worthy addition to my new regime." And with that threat hanging over their heads, the Dark Lord departed, Barty on his heels. Harry sat and watched, so Snape remained as well. The young man's head turned from one Death Eater to the next, not talking, seemingly, not even breathing. Not one dared to question him. After a few minutes of tense silence, they eased out of the room, racing for the edge of the property so that they could apparate away. Severus Snape wondered if he would ever be so lucky.

* * *

"I'm sorry."

Potter's quiet voice startled him. The young man had forgone his mask, turning it in his hands, before looking up, honestly apologetic. "Tom … Voldemort insisted on the mental link. He had absolute faith in you. That's why he is so angry about your betrayal." He stepped to a window overlooking the moon-lit garden – a serene landscape. After debating with himself, Snape approached.

"He did not want to take any chances, chained me to you irrevocably, on the off-chance that he would lose me. So, he had you take control." He did not want to sound accusing, or bitter. From Voldemort's point of view, this was sensible. "The spell is ingenious. But then, the Dark Lord was always exceptional."

"I didn't want to force myself into your mind," Harry shivered as if the mere thought caused him pain. "I just thought … you reacted badly to parseltongue before. I thought if you knew what we were talking about, you would not feel as uncomfortable. I'm sorry I made it worse."

Why was this boy so kind to him? "You didn't," Snape forced himself to admit. "I felt better knowing what you were saying."

"This is such a mess," Harry rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. Then he turned away from the window. "Come on. I will show you your room."

"My room?" He followed, for lack of an alternative.

Harry sneered, "I might trust you, but Dumbledore, not so much. You've been called for the first time since 1981. Yet he let you go without so much as a shielding charm in your pocket. Tom wanted to humiliate you when he made you burn your clothes. He knew you were without protection the second you passed our wards."

Snape had not expected anything less. This place was new, well, old, considering the feeling of the wards. Yet the former Death Eater had been part of Voldemort's Inner Circle, a position he had bought with the life of his childhood friend. He knew that he had not been here before. However, Voldemort would never choose a meeting place that did not give him the upper hand. Especially in a situation as delicate as this. They entered a room. It was quite spacious, on par with his quarters at Hogwarts.

"This is yours. I had the elves provide the basics, but I didn't want to order anything beyond your first outfit without your input. The bathroom is through that door. My room is at the end of the corridor to the right. The one to the left is … well, if I were you, I would avoid that one."

So, Severus had been put in the residential wing. An honour he could not comprehend. There was sleepwear on the bed. He suppressed a sigh. Too much had happened, and he was exhausted. The former spy would have to think over the events of tonight before he could understand them. For now, there was one thing he could not put to rest. "May I ask a question?"

"Of course, Professor." The young man immediately looked at him.

"You cut yourself," he reached out without thought when Harry tried to turn away. Slowly he rubbed his potion-stained fingers over the skin that had been cut an hour before. Quietly, he stated, "You cut across, even though you are aware that killing yourself would work faster if you cut lengthwise." He had seen the faded scars. The young man did not insult him by pleading ignorance. Instead, he replied quietly, "Tom cares for me. But he is out of practice. He needed time to set his priorities straight. I know that me aligning with him makes no sense to you. You consider that he put a spell on me, though we both know that I can throw off the Imperious with little difficulty. Still, I am grateful that you took my mark. It's just … after Dumbledore, after everyone making decisions for me, I need to be able to trust. If Tom … Voldemort goes back on his word … I can't … that's the only thing I can't take, and I knew of no other way to show him that."

"And before? When you cut lengthwise?"

Once again, Harry tried to pull back, but Snape would not let him. He _had_ to know why Lily's boy had tried to kill himself. Reluctantly, the teenager admitted, "You said that your magic would not be able to heal me if I really wanted to die."

"Correct."

"Well, a few years ago, I discovered that the same is true in reverse."

"You cut yourself, but didn't want to die?"

Sighing, Potter insistently pulled back, rubbing over his underarm when the man finally let go. "I just wanted … I wanted the pain to end. To not feel like a burden, a monster, a _freak_!"

Wordlessly, Severus Snape stepped back. When the boy had reached the door to leave him, he had decided on suitable parting words. "Thank you for saving my life."

A sad smile graced Harry's features as he replied, "You are welcome."

* * *

Severus Snape was standing in front of the mirror, inspecting his naked chest. He had detested the Dark Mark that had tarnished his skin since he had come of age. Had expected to hate the new one as well but, … it was barely there. There was nothing but faint lines over his heart that could be written off as scars from a potion accident. However, they were of a very distinguished shape: a lightning bolt. Brushing over it, with the tips of his fingers, he wondered if the spell had even been successful. This mark did not feel like anything. But then he remembered their connection. The young man had not looked him in the eye but still had been in his head. The bond between them, however, it was not the dark, invasive, one the Dark Lord had chosen. Snape wondered if that made it better. Did he want a mark that enslaved his mind, body and soul, despite not being able to feel it, or did he want the vile magic back, if only to remember his status?

Closing his eyes, he shook his head. "Never again!" he whispered. Never again would he want magic that tainted his soul. He decided to be grateful.

Looking at the silent clock on the dresser, he realised that it was but a few minutes to midnight. He had just reached for the Dreamless Sleep when a white-clad elf with big, cerulean eyes popped into his room. Softly, she whispered, "Mister Snape is to come down to the kitchen, please."

The Potion Master wanted to roll his eyes, to tell her that he was not a dog to be called upon all hours of the day. Then, Harry Potter had never stricken him as someone who ordered people around on a fancy. If he was required, there had to be a reason. Maybe his injury was giving the teenager trouble?

Straightening his robe, like one would a set of armour, he nodded and gestured for the elf to show him the way.

At the end of the corridor, a hidden door between the two 'master' bedrooms was revealed. "This will be bringing Mister Snape down to the kitchen."

"Thank you."

* * *

The room was pitch black when he entered. Snape would have left, but then he felt the Dark Lord approach. It was not like before when the Dark Mark had made him aware of his master's presence. It was more like the instinctual knowledge of a dangerous predator being in the room with him.

Not bothering with light, Voldemort crowded him against the door. "If you betray him, Severus, if you cause Harry Potter heartache, anger or pain, I will torture you for an eternity before letting you plead for death; a death that will be a long time coming. Have I made myself clear?"

Drawing his weak occlumency barriers around his mind, to preserve the last fractions of his dignity, the spy … former spy nodded. "Crystal clear, my … Lord Voldemort."

"My, my," the Dark Lord mocked, brushing over his chin in a mock-gentle gesture. Severus had to fight the impulse to rub the touch away. "You've switched allegiances fast. But then, it happened fourteen years ago. No wonder you adapted so easily."

Snape startled when Barty entered through a door at the side. Unconcerned by the tense atmosphere, the younger wizard stepped up to the table and set down a beautifully glaced cake. He tilted his head, licked his lips, seemingly excited. When the clock stroke midnight, they all could hear footsteps racing down the stairs. Barty weaved out his wand, and fifteen candles flared to life. Another chime. Harry broke into the kitchen and froze when the Death Eater stepped aside, revealing the cake.

Another chime and Harry started to tremble, fists clenched, eyes squeezed shut. At the fourth chime, the teenager drew a shuddering breath that revealed how hard he fought for composure.

After the ninth, he whispered, "Hagrid … he was the only one who ever gave me a cake on my actual birthday. The first one to acknowledge it. I …"

At the twelfth stroke, Voldemort stepped up to him and pulled the boy into his arms. Desperately, Harry clutched his robes. The Dark Lord put his arm around the boy's waist and a hand on the back of his neck. With everybody else, it would have looked threatening. Hands so close to vital points. But tonight, Voldemort's only offered comfort. "Never again, my Harry. You'll never be neglected like that, I swear. You are precious, and I will never let you forget it!" A few minutes later, he let Harry go. "Happy Birthday, _*my Horcrux*_." The last words were unfamiliar, but Snape vowed to remember them. They seemed a form of endearment that made Harry smile.

Barty claimed the next hug. He too whispered, "Happy Birthday, little Lord."

Without thought, the teenager included Severus. For a heartbeat, the Potion Master did not know to react; then, he tentatively closed his arms around the slimmer body. Contrary to the other 'guests' of this impromptu birthday party, Harry apparently did not expect him to say anything. When he pulled back, he beamed, "Let's eat."

Voldemort rolled his eyes. "Oh yes, please, let us consummate extensive amounts of sugar in the middle of the night."

"Shut up," Harry replied good-naturedly and stepped up to the cake.

Barty held out a knife, "You have to make a wish."

Looking at all of them for a few heartbeats, the young man closed his eyes and blew out the candles.

"What did you wish for?" The Dark Lord demanded to know.

"If he tells, it won't come true," Snape replied before Harry could. Surprised at his gall, he tentatively smiled when the teenager chuckled. "True."

Voldemort cast a weak Lumos, that hovered over the kitchen table. Somehow, Snape could not see this young, sophisticated version of the Dark Lord taking dinner or even breakfast in this room. However, right now, these surroundings were suitable for the occasion. After a few moments, Voldemort sighed. "Come out, you lot. There is enough cake for all of us."

Looking over Severus' back, Harry let out an amused laugh. "Just bring the dishes. I will serve you."

"But Master Harry!" A high voice protested, but the teenager seemed unbothered, "My birthday, my rules, Belladonna. Now come on."

Within two minutes, six elves claimed places on the bench that surrounded the central table. They giggled, like children who were doing something forbidden. But since Lord Voldemort did not scold them, everything was apparently alright. This was surreal, and Snape could not get rid of the impression that this was all a dream. He had been outed as a spy; had been punished, but only briefly; had lost his Dark Mark; had gained a light one … a lightning one! Now he was sitting beside the son of his best friend and shared his birthday cake. An absolute novelty for Harry, if his initial reaction was to be believed. "Petunia!" He spat out. Because who else would fulfil the requirements to keep the blood sacrifice of Lily Potter née Evans alive, yet make a magical child miserable. He regretted his outburst when Harry's fist clenched around his fork. The boy did not comment yet … "I am sorry. I should not have brought her up."

A vicious smile spread over Voldemort's face. "It seems that my former Potion Master and I share an opinion on at least one topic."

Sighing, Harry stuffed the last piece of his cake into his mouth. "You can't hurt her. You promised!"

Grinning, the Dark Lord informed his 'equal', "I did no such thing. I said that I had no interest in her for now. But that could change at any time. Considering your 'advisor's' reaction, he would simply love to use one concoction or the other on her, testing quite thoroughly if muggles truly suffer when ingesting potions."

Scratching the back of his head – When had the boy's hair had gotten so long? And where, by Merlin, were his glasses? – Potter sighed. "We have to get these murderous tendencies of yours under control!"

Finishing his glass of milk, Voldemort tilted his head, "Oh, but right now, we were not discussing _my_ murderous tendencies but Severus'."

"I need more cake for this!" Harry grumbled, reaching for the plate where one, lonely piece remained. Snape had never had a sweet tooth, but the bland sponge cake worked amazingly well with the 'treacle tart' cream. Longingly he looked at the remains and was utterly surprised when half of it was put on his plate, while the teenager pulled the cake-plate towards himself and started to scrub off the congealed sugar, before polishing off his half. The Potion Master wanted to protest but found that he could not speak.

Scowling, he spotted Barty glaring at him while putting away his wand. The Death Eater gestured for him to continue eating. They would discuss this in private! For now, Snape decided to enjoy his treat.

Once the glass-dish was squeaky clean, Harry started to droop. It was a sign of how much he trusted the Dark Lord when he allowed the man to lift him and carry him to bed. Snape wanted to follow, to make sure the idiot boy got to bed alright, when Barty held him back, hissing viscously, "When your Master gives you something, you take it and be grateful! Don't dare, ever, to protest an offering again! You have no idea how much weaving your mark took out of Harry."

"Then he should have eaten the piece himself," Snape shot back.

"By Merlin! Do you know the boy at all?" Bartemius Crouch Jr. challenged. "You wanted it. We all could see that! Harry would have given you the entire thing if my Master had not protested the action!" The Dark Lord had become quite vested in Harry eating enough these last few weeks; especially since the young man showed the tendency to serve everyone before himself, even at the cost of his own portion.

"That is a stupid thing to do!"

Defeated, the Death Eater shook his head. "Harry will always look out for others over himself. I'm ashamed that the first person he grants the honour of his mark, does not even know that."

The elves bustled around to get the kitchen spotless again. Snape felt compelled to return to his bedroom, following Barty up the stairs. When they had both reached their respective rooms, Snape discovered that Barty had the room on Harry's other side. "Why do you sleep next to him and not to your beloved Lord?"

"Because then I would not hear his nightmares and be able to help."

Closing his eyes against yet another slap to the face, proving once more how little he knew about Harry's situation, Snape admitted ashamed, "I don't."

"What?" Barty challenged, tired and bad-tempered.

Turning around, Harry's teacher of four years, admitted reluctantly, "I think I do not know him at all."

Looking at the room, that still held the Dark Lord and his 'little' Lord, the Death Eater looked at Snape, barring his teeth. "He made you his first advisor. His trust in you knows no bounds. I hope you will prove yourself worthy. Otherwise, you will learn that even a badger can kill a snake."

Message received. Nodding, the Potion Master finally entered his room. This time, he swallowed the Dreamless Sleep and was out as soon as his head hit the pillow.

* * *


	9. July 31st 1995

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May the games begin.
> 
> * * *

Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger joined them for breakfast. They did not even blink at Snape. Nor did they react to Voldemort, who studied the Daily Prophet without participating in the conversation. Obviously, they had been aware of Harry's schemes, aligning himself with the Dark Lord and inviting a formerly hated professor. Severus wondered if he should be irritated or grateful. He was still surprised by the familiarity between the Dark Lord and Harry Potter. Of course, he had watched Voldemort easing the child yesterday, but apparently, the care went both ways. Harry seemed determined to refill the man's plate whenever he was finished with his current spread. After the third plate, the older wizard snapped, "I can help myself to breakfast; thank you very much!"

"Sure," Harry shrugged while refilling first Ron's and then the Dark Lord's teacup before helping himself and Snape to more coffee.

"And why, pray, do you insist on feeding me?"

"Because parselmagic needs a lot of energy," Harry and Hermione said in one voice, trading a grin before the witch nudged more toast into the Dark Lord's direction.

Finally lowering the newspaper, Voldemort glared at the girl. "I have no vested interest in your wellbeing whatsoever, Miss Granger. If you continue to be as obstinate as Harry, I will curse you!"

"Of course, Sir," Hermione replied politely, helping herself to some eggs.

When Harry pushed back his half-eaten porridge, the Dark Lord growled. "Don't even think about stopping. I am well aware of your plans for the day."

"But …"

"Eat!"

With a sigh, Harry did as told. Once he was finished, he rose and gestured Snape to follow. When Hermione opened her mouth, he promised. "I just want to show Professor Snape the cottage. I'll be back soon."

"Fine, with your permission, Lord Voldemort, I'll be …"

"… in the library," Harry and Ron finished Hermione's sentence in one voice, grinning at each other.

When the teenager hovered beside the table, the Dark Lord sighed and folded his paper. "When exactly have I been degraded to 'magical carriage'?"

"When you decided that me not landing on the ten square-inch piece of paper you've declared my target, did not qualify me for apparating on my own, let alone side-alonging someone."

Surprised, Snape looked at the young man. Apparition at fifteen? Few grown wizards could land in such a small target. The Dark Lord demanded the impossible, yet Harry Potter went along with it, not even concerned about having been set up for failure. On the terrace, he merely wrapped his arms around the man, apparently hiding a grin against the Dark Lord's chest. "Ready."

The Potion Master was prepared for the harsh grip on his arm, but not for the nausea when your guide let go the moment you landed. He stumbled but did not dare to voice any protest. Instead, he had one of his surreal moments, that seemed to become his new normal, when the older wizard caressed Harry's head for a second, before stepping back briskly. "I am not entertaining your insipid friends. So, return in a timely manner."

"Yes, my Lord." Harry grinned when Voldemort popped away.

Snape took a relieved breath when the Dark Lord was gone. It was beautiful here. They had landed in the middle of luscious green hills that were overgrown with bushes. A gravel path wound through the moor, heading towards a nearby shore, Snape could see from their position. He heard the waves lapping over the sand, and a soft breeze brought fresh air, a relief from the early morning heat.

"You like it here."

Snape had not even realised that he had closed his eyes to soak up the serene surroundings. When he looked at Potter, he tilted his head. "I have always been partial to the sea. The sound of waves has a calming effect. Also, a lot of sea-creatures have their use in potions."

"I'm glad," Harry smiled.

"And why is that?"

"Because the Cottage by the Sea is situated on the southern edge of the Peverell property."

The Potion Master's eyes widened when a tiny cottage grew out of the moor. It was small, smaller even than Spinners End, one-bedroom tops, but infinitely more charming. He could see an additional building apart from the main house.

"I … don't understand."

"This is your new home." The teenager explained. "I'm the only one who knows it's location, so you'll be safe from Dumbledore and everyone else. It's ancient, part of the Potter inheritance, but attached to the Peverell grounds. At some point, it probably was a retreat for one of the Lords, because the original furniture was of outstanding quality. I know it is not that big, but well, … you are only one person, so I thought this would do. The attached workshop has been expanded with wizard's space, and I asked the goblins to make sure it has sufficient ventilation for a lab." When Snape only starred, the boy nudged him, "Do you want to see?"

"I … why would you …?"

"Come on, Sir."

They entered the house. It was as small, just like the outside suggested, 700 square feet at best. The ground floor contained a living-room and a kitchen separated only by a high counter. A sofa, an armchair and a sturdy looking coffee table were arranged in front of a sizable fireplace. The former owners had travelled in style. On the long side of the room, the only window was surrounded by shelves and drawers. The attic had been converted into a bedroom with a tiny walk-in-closet and a bathroom attached. There was a tub-shower combination opposite a basinet, basic furniture, nothing fancy. But Potter was right, every piece of furniture, wooden beam, even the carpets were of outstanding quality and polished to a shine. The entire house smelled of beeswax and lemon cleaners, the natural ones, not the muggle chemicals that made your eyes water. The kitchen was fully stocked. The wardrobe he had discovered in 'his' guestroom the day before, had been transferred. After the main house, Harry showed him the lab.

Inside, it was about the same size as the ground floor of the main building. However, the outside was only half the size. Shelves and a cooling cupboard stood against the far wall, s modern brewing station in the middle and on the small side was a sink big enough to clean even the largest cauldrons. The entire room was bare but, like the house, spotlessly clean. Not being able to take this any longer, Snape snapped, "Potter, why would you give me a house and a potions lab? Does the Dark Lord plan on incarcerating me here?"

"What?" The young man's eyes grew wise. "Of course not! Why would you think that? To incarcerate … No! Voldemort wants you here for a few days, but you are in no way bound to the area. I would prefer you to stay here at least a week, but if you wish to return to Hogwarts, I won't keep you."

Well, that was interesting. However, nobody was as altruistic as to offer a _house_ without a hidden purpose. "Could you? Keep me here, I mean?"

Scratching the back of his head, drawing Snape's eyes once again to the longer hair that made the young man look so much more sophisticated than the mop James Potter had preferred, Harry admitted quietly, "Yes, I could."

"Good. At least you got that part right. Now, answer my question: why would you offer me this?"

"Because someone who cared for you, asked it of me."

"There was only ever one person who cared for me."

"Yes." Changing the topic, Harry prompted, "There are no modern amenities like washing machines, but with your permission, I would ask my Peverell elf to take care for those. She enjoyed preparing the cottage and asked me repeatedly if I would allow her to return. I told her that I wanted to run that by you, first."

House-elves were decadent luxuries for the lazy. But to think about nothing but brewing, not caring for food or washing or cleaning, seemed like bliss. He had handed over his life, shouldn't he be allowed some indulgence? "If she doesn't disturb me in my brewing, she may come."

"Okay," After an explosive exhale, the young man looked up. "I … I did not name her, just … please remember that?"

"Why?"

"Lily!"

"Master Harry? What can Lily do for you?" The white-clad house-elf who had shown him the kitchen yesterday stood on the gravel path, beaming when she spotted him. "Does Mister Severus like the house? Did Lil… did I do good?"

Snape froze. 'Lily' … how could this be? What cruel game were the fates playing?

"Tom's elf is called Merope." A quiet voice drifted over the beautiful landscape. Severus felt that it was strangely at odds with the shattering information conveyed. "We don't know how it happened. We did not even know that we could claim the Peverell inheritance when we went to Gringotts the first time. All six elves here have flower names. All but Lily and Merope had fixed tasks. It's … we can't explain it, but those two … they are suited to serve us. It … somehow … it just feels right."

This was all too much. Occluding with the last strength, Severus looked at the boy, enunciating very clearly, "The only person who ever cared for me was your mother!"

"She still does," Harry whispered, looking into his eyes, proving that he had nothing to hide, nor tried to deceive. Snape was the first to look away. "I'll explain it eventually, but not today. Take your time, Sir. You are welcome at Peverell House whenever you wish. If you want to leave, just tell me. You can use Lil… you can use the house-elf as a messenger if you want to avoid me … us. She will come if you call for her." The young man reached out, touched Snape's arm to offer comfort. "I trust you. Please, don't make me regret it."

"The Dark Lord would kill me if I did."

"Tom would get over it eventually. I don't know if I could. You're one of the few people in my life who never tried to deceive me. Not even by implication." Pulling back, as if to not encroach on the other's space for too long, Harry gestured towards the woods. "The Manor lies on the other side of this small patch. The main house is barely a mile and a half away. Close enough to walk, but far enough for you to have complete autonomy. This cottage is, strictly speaking, not even on Peverell ground. Lily … she has no authority here, beyond what you give her. I'm sorry that … well, I'm sorry for everything really. Still, I don't regret bringing you here. You are wanted, not as a Potion Master or spy or a teacher but as a person. I hope you know that." Then the young man took another step back and apparated away.

Snape stared at the empty spot, unable to make sense of what was happening. Maybe he had gone mad under the Dark Lord's Cruciatus? That would explain a lot! Unable to solve that particular problem, he explored the lab and the house and then maybe take a cup of tea on the back porch. And later … later he would think about returning to Peverell House to demand some answers!

* * *


	10. still July 31st 1995

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snape gets a little reprieve. That will change in Chapter 11. So enjoy the calm before the storm.
> 
> * * *

Of course, 'exploring' the lab had let to brewing. A light lunch followed. Food appeared the moment Severus had sunken into one of the patio desk-chairs. The former spy soaked up the serene atmosphere. Waves crash on the shore were hypnotic, soothing even. Around five, a spot of tea and some homemade shortbread popped up beside him. After that, Snape rested his eyes a little. Falling asleep in a place that he had not adequately warded was out of the question, of course. After helping himself to some fruit, he started the trek back to the Manor. It was indeed rather enjoyable to walk. The path wound its way through light woods that seemed filled with flora aplenty. The Potion Master wondered what kinds of ingredients he could find here. Not that he knew where 'here' really was.

The climate suggested an inner part of England. The weather and the sea were relatively calm. Maybe one of the Isles south of Scotland? He could start a vegetable and herbal patch, perhaps even experiment with a small greenhouse since Pomona guarded hers like a nesting dragon her clutch. He shook himself out of these plans. What was he thinking? A part of him had already accepted that Harry Potter of all people had gifted him a house. He could not afford to let his guard down. To accept such a gift, to claim it as a permanent residence would mean … it would mean … that this was his life now. And Severus was not sure he was ready for that.

Stepping out of the woods, he spotted the Manor. The sun had already sunken below the horizon. A diffuse light guided him to the small side of the building. He ran face-first into a wall when he spotted the 'golden trio' as the Hogwarts students had duped them, concocting in the middle of a glowing circle. Ready to protest the harsh treatment, he noticed Voldemort standing at the edge of the terrace, arms lowered, palms parallel to the floor, his wand at the ready. His attention was divided between Severus and the children. Looking around, the Potion Master spotted a mumbling well, a small fire-pit, a patch of luscious flowers and a wind-chime at the edges of their circle. Symbols and candles were evenly spaced between the items. What kind of ritual was that?

Torn between fury and fear, he edged around the circle to catch his Master's attention. Inwardly, he seethed, what was that idiot boy doing now.

Barty, who had claimed a place behind his Lord's right shoulder, glanced at him. "Stand back, Snape. Harry's marking them and can't afford any distractions!"

"He is what?!"

"Hold your tongue, Severus. You are straining my concentration," The Dark Lord ordered.

Barty explanation in hushed tones, "Miss Granger decided that if Harry started marking people, he would begin with them. During her holiday in France, she unearthed a spell - not unlike a muggle marriage vow - that binds three people together, as equals. The Dark Lord and Harry transformed it into a parsel ritual. "

Lord Voldemort was allowing Harry more followers? Had even encouraged it, by helping with the spell? Snape felt hot and cold; his breath became laboured. Carefully he edged away from the two wizards. He had to stop this ritual! Nothing the Dark Lord had had his hand in, had ever been altruistic. He would _never_ allow a former enemy to gain power, and that was what Severus was hearing. To be granted access to another witches and wizards magic by binding them together was an enormous boost. That's why pureblood witches and wizards were so insisted on the right vows to the right bloodlines because they would enhance the family magic. He had secretly pulled his wand, ready to attack the shields Voldemort was sustaining. Yet before he could cast, he _heard Barty call out calmly, "Harry."_

The teenagers had just finished mixing a strange concoction between them and rid themselves of their shirts. When Harry looked up, he first met his eyes and then glanced towards Voldemort and Barty. An unspoken exchange took place before the Dark Lord nodded rather insistent. With a sigh, the teenager decreed, "Severus Snape, you will not do anything to disturb, interrupt or otherwise impede this ritual. Tell me you understand my order."

"I do," Severus heard himself reply. From this moment on, no matter how hard he tried, he could not lift his wand, to safe that stupid boy from himself.

"Where do you want it, Ron?"

"My thigh," the redhead replied after a few moments of consideration, before ridding himself of his trousers. "Mum's making us undress when she does laundry. If it's high enough up, I'll be able to keep it hidden beneath my pants."

Harry gave a saucy grin before he sank to his knees before his best friend.

"Mate!" Ron protested. "I did not need that image!" But then he took a deep breath and touched Harry's naked shoulder, while Hermione touched the other and held Ron's free hand.

"I can do it alone, no need to drain yourselves." The teenager protested, but before his friends could reply, the Dark Lord spoke up. "I can only contain, not amplify. You will take their offer of power!"

Rolling his eyes, Harry started to chant, and from his position, Snape could see the strain the spell was causing. All three teenagers were heavily affected. Ron was clenching his teeth. His complexion became waxy, and he started to sweat. The redhead was clenching Hermione's hand so firmly, both of their fingers were turning white. Severus fought against the binding, tried to intervene, to stop this madness, but his master's command rooted him on the spot. The longer the spell lasted, the more the Potion Master started to hate the teenager for it. Then it was over, and Harry sank back on is haunches, breathing deeply. Ron broke to his knees as well, taking huge gulps of air. "By Merlin, let's never do this again."

"Agreed," Harry sighed.

For several minutes, nobody said a word, the last rays of the daying sun were vanishing behind the woods behind the garden when Harry rose and looked at the witch. "Hermione?"

"My hip. I don't make a habit of undressing before my parents, but that way, I can hide it easier in the dormitories."

Nodding, Harry rose and allowed Hermione to wrap her arms around Ron's neck. Meanwhile, he covered her back. Hesitant, he put his hand on her hip from behind. The trio put their heads together, drawing strength from each other. Then the chanting started anew. A bare minute into it, Hermione began to scream, yet instead of pulling back, her friends crowded closer, holding her up, while Harry finished the ritual. She was sobbing, shivering between them while holding her head as if she was afraid it would burst open.

In a calm voice, Voldemort ordered, "We have talked about this, Miss Granger. Stop fighting it. You've lived with your ingenious thought your entire life. The boys' thoughts can hardly compare. Just let them pass you by."

"I … yea … yea, okay." She sniffed, then brushed away her tears. Looking at her hip, she smiled, tracing the design they had agreed upon. She shivered, before nodding decisively. "One more. Then we're finished."

Nodding, Harry took a steeling breath. Stepping between his friends, seeking as much physical contact as possible and put his hand over his heart. Ron stepped up to him from behind, Hermione covered his front, trapping his hand between their half-naked bodies. "Stop holding back, Harry. You need to draw from both of us. We're equals, remember?"

Nodding, the teenager closed his eyes and started the ritual for the last time. His voice wavered, but his pronunciation was as clear as before, even during the worst of the pain. The design seemed to burn itself into his body. Snape was trembling with barely suppressed rage. How did this stupid boy dare to cause himself pain? What use did he have for a leash for his two best friends? It was not as if they were not following him like lapdogs anyway! He should have talked about Harry's plans when he had the chance in the morning. An unforgivable oversight!

Once the ritual was through, the teenagers broke down in the middle of the circle. Harry was lying with his head on Ron's thigh, Ron had his head on Hermione's hip, and Hermione was comfortably resting against Harry's chest. As the protective shield around them broke, Severus started running towards them. He was surprised to notice that the Dark Lord and Barty were joining him. House-elves popped up around them, carrying trays and pitchers. Once he was kneeling next to the stupid children, Snape noticed that they laughed, louder and louder with each second. Unconcerned, the Dark Lord forced some juice and finger-food that looked suspiciously like a mini-quiche on Hermione, while Barty offered a glass of milk and a biscuit to Ron. That left Snape with tea and mini-sandwiches for Harry, and while the idiot boy took it, even swallowed three of them in short order, he stopped eating, instead of laughing out loud, when Hermione snickered, "The bear."

"What?" Ron grinned. "That's Fred Asbear! Bill charmed him for me, soon after Ginny was born."

"Your little sister got all the attention, leaving you with but dancing toys?" Harry grinned.

"Exactly!" The redhead smiled at the fond memory fond, accepting more food from Barty. "Charlie and Percy were always the ones who got along best, both studious but with entirely different points of interest. Bill was more annoyed than enamoured with the new baby-girl, and one evening he heard me crying. He charmed my bear as a kind of pick me up."

Recalling a memory that was not her own, Hermione chuckled, "He still does that, when he thinks you are sad. Did he really charm a pullover to tap-dance when he heard you crying over your growing molars?"

"Hey!" Ron threw a napkin at her. "That hurt like a bitch!"

Throwing the balled-up napkin with surprising accuracy, she replied, "My parents are dentists Ron. I know exactly how much growing teeth can hurt. But you were thirteen, and your brother still thought a dancing bear would cheer you up."

"To be fair, he was half asleep at that point," Harry recalled, then he looked at Ron, squeezing his hand. "You are the most important Weasley for us. You know that mate. I like your brothers and Ginny, but I would never …"

Hermione, caressed Ron's head on her hip, smiling at him, "We would never trade you for anything. No brilliant curse-breaker, no daring dragon-tamer, no studious ministry-worker, no annoying twins or seventh daughter could ever be as important for us as you."

Swallowing thickly, gratefully accepting more food from Barty, Ron mumbled, "I know."

Over the next few minutes, the trio spat out random words, that threw them into bouts of laughter. Whenever the adults got the chance, they stuffed them with food. Snape would have expected for Voldemort to grow tired of this, but he did not complain, nor did he draw attention to himself.

After a while, Harry caressed Hermione's cheek until she looked up from her position on his chest. Softly he assured her. "You don't have to try so hard, you know."

"Yea," Ron agreed, kissing her tummy absent-minded before looking up at her. "We love you. Not being the best at absolutely everything will not change that."

Breathing wetly for a moment, Hermione admitted, "I know … Really, I do! It's just … even when my parents were struggling with their surgery, we would rather not go on holiday or not eat out for a year, than send me to a public school. They always made sure that I received the best education, and I always felt that I am failing them if I don't do my absolute best. And after coming to Hogwarts … if I'm not 'the brightest witch of my age'," she practically spat out that title, "what am I?"

Pulling her closer so that he could hug her, Harry assured her, "You're Hermione Granger. You're brilliant, even without the book-smarts. You are kind and caring and such an amazing person. Without you, Ron and I wouldn't even have survived first year."

For a few minutes, the teenagers sat wrapped around each other. They all could hear the young witch sniffle, but nobody said a word. When she pulled back, she shoved both Harry and Ron, "Just because I paid attention in Herbology."

"All those freaky plants from first year." Ron chuckled, "Who would know that Devil's Snare would be the first thing in the wizarding world out to kill us?" The moment this sentence had left his mouth, the redhead whipped around and wrapped his best friend in a bone-crushing hug. "No … never, Harry, by Morgana, No!" Hermione immediately mirrored his position, holding on to their smallest friend, rubbing his back comfortingly. "You are not a freak, and you are worth something. My god, what did these vile muggles do? I …," her voice was full of tears again, a pain so profound it was breaking their hearts, even though Snape was sure it was not her own. Harry was not making a single noise. He just sat curled up between his two friends, knees pulled tight to his chests, arms wrapped around them, rocking back and forth. Ron's words were barely louder than a gush of wind, "You are a wizard, Harry. That does not make you a monster or a freak, and it certainly does not make you expendable, just because you have some freaky prophecy hanging over your head. You are …"

It was evident that the teenagers were overwhelmed by the amount of grief their friend was feeling. For the first time, since the shield had fallen, Voldemort reached out for Harry. Clutching him by the neck like an unruly kitten, he forced the boy to look into his ruby-red eyes. "You are precious Harry Potter, your life, your happiness is precious not only to your friends but to me as well. You know that."

"Because I'm your last fucking Horcrux!" The 'boy who lived' replied harshly and Snape felt like is heart was turning to lead. A Horcrux. That explained so much!

The Dark Lord did not disgrace the suffering teenager by offering pretty but meaningless words. Instead, he opted for the truth. "Yes, you are. But you are precious to me because you have given me my life back. You were willing to sacrifice yourself for your friends, for all of Britain just so that muggles, half-bloods and purebloods could live and thrive. You reminded me, what my crusade against the Ministry was all about, and I value our moments. Even those when you defy me."

"Really?" Harry whispered, sounding far too young, for a teenager of fifteen. Opening his arms, Voldemort allowed the child to crawl into his lap, curling up against his chest, Voldemort assured him, "Really." Ron and Hermione still sat close, petting their friend to offer reassurance. But Snape could see that they too were drooping. The stars started to light up the sky, when the Dark Lord decided, "Let's put them to bed. Severus, you take Harry."

Cautiously pulling the boy out of the Dark Lord's lap, Snape cast a featherlight charm, before rising to his feet. Voldemort picked up Hermione while Barty cared for Ron. Without a word, Snape followed them. Once the teenagers had all been put to bed in Harry's room, Barty gently closed the door on his way out.

It was awkward for Snape to be in the same room as the Dark Lord, the wizard not being 'his' Lord any longer. Voldemort did not share that concern. He chose a book from the vast collection Harry had assembled and claimed an armchair in front of the fireplace. His only concession to the situation was him turning the chair around to watch the recovering teenagers. Not knowing what to do with himself, Snape debated leaving for 'his' guestroom or staying to make sure that the blasted boy would wake in the morning.

"If you want to remain at your master's side, either chose a book or a place where you're out of my hair."

"He's not my master!" Snape only realised that he had risen to the Dark Lord's bait when he saw the cold smile the man gave him.

"Really?" The Dark Lord challenged, before pulling his wand, "Imperio!"

Severus tried to snap his Occlumency shields up, but the other wizard was too fast. He was prepared for the comfortable blanket the curse used to subdue its victims. But the sensation never came. "I don't understand," he admitted.

Lifting the spell, Voldemort gestured towards the bed. "Harry put numerous fail-safes into your mark. Spells that target the mind get mostly redirected to him. His mental defences add to yours, so his chances of overcoming such spells are far greater than yours."

"That's impossible," Snape whispered. Why would anybody do that? Suffer for someone else? That was not even possible! But then … Harry Potter had overcome the most unlikely odds since he was fifteen months old.

"Really," a cruel smile appeared, "Crucio!"

There was a whimper from the bed, yet Snape remained pain-free. "Stop it!" He whispered harshly, instinctively stepping between the Dark Lord and Harry. "Please, don't hurt him!"

Letting up his spell, the other chuckled, "I would never hurt, _*my Horcrux*_. His mental defences are impenetrable. Not even the Unforgivables can breach them."

"I don't understand!"

"Cast, Legilimens." The Dark Lord ordered. "We both know that you are a master of the mind-arts. You could have never managed to deceive me otherwise." There was hatred in that accusation, but Snape could not care about that, right now. He was cautiously approaching the bed, aware that a sleeping person was barely able to defend him- or herself. Snape touched Harry's cheek for a fleeting moment. When the boy's eyes fluttered open for a heartbeat, he cast. The force that repelled him from the teenager's mind was enough to throw him through the room. He landed in a heap at the bottom of the far wall, right under the window. Under different circumstances, he might have broken something. But his 'luck' seemed to hold, while he hurt all over, he had little trouble moving.

"Three parts became one through this ritual." Rising, he gestured Snape to approach to the bed again. Lightly lifting the blanket, he revealed the mark that Snape had not studied for now. "The knowledge," he gestured towards a book, that formed the base of the design, "the tactic," he indicated the chess-piece, that stood on the book, "and the power." a lightning bolt seemed to hug both the king and the book. It took Snape a few seconds to realise that Harry's lightning bolt was on the same position on the young man's chest, as his own. "No matter who he goes against, you, me or even Dumbledore. From this day forth, his mind is protected. And with his friends in his head, should they so wish, even his body."

"Their minds are one?" That way, insanity lay.

"No," the Dark Lord pulled the covers back over the teenagers and retreated to his chair. This time, Severus joined him. He had made himself comfortable and accepted a cup of tea from the tray that popped up on the small table between them. "They can choose to go into each other's head or to shield from each other. However, that will need more training. Even over large distances, they can share knowledge and information, making them formidable forces in the political game."

"These children are fifteen years old!"

"Exactly! They have but two years to prepare for the political stage we will use to change our world."

Looking at the sleeping trio, pondering the Slytherin move. He wondered if they had not turned 'dark', using mind-arts and parseltongue to their advantage. It was a comfortable feeling not to be concerned about it. Maybe this time, Severus Snape had chosen the winning side.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a lengthy conversation with one of my betas, about where this story is supposed to go, I feel the need to point something out. I think the introduction is misleading. Harry will become a LOT more like Voldemort than I had originally anticipated because I was in the mood to write someone dark. (Who could fault me for that with the whole pandemic going on :P).  
> He's not going insane, but he will not stay the Griffindor golden boy we all know and love from canon. His relationship with Severus (and no that's no spoiler, it's in the tags) will mostly develop through manipulations on Harry's part. He will 'groom' his first advisor for the role as his partner. If you don't like that approach, please don't continue reading, because it will start in the next few chapters.   
> Fanfic should be fun for the author and the reader, hence the warning tags. I would like all of you to enjoy yourself with my story thoroughly.  
> Have a great weekend  
> Anchanee


	11. August 1st 1995

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please remember, that Voldemort is a bastard and that he feels personally offended by Severus' betrayal. As a consequence, he makes Harry's Potion Master suffer for it. Please heed the updated tags!
> 
> * * *

Not long after midnight, Harry had a nightmare. Snape rose and approached the bed, where the young man lay curled up in a corner. Soothingly he had put a hand on his shoulder, to shake him awake, but since the teenager eased at the contact, he refrained. Regrettably, Harry seemed to slip back into the bad dream as soon as Severus let go. So, he had claimed a place at the end of the broad bed to keep the young man company. The professor was determined to return to his seat as soon as Harry calmed down. Yet, somehow, he must have fallen asleep.

_"Serpentsortia!"_

A curse woke him, but everything was black. Panicked, Snape reached for his wand, but could not orient himself in the commotion around him. The mattress bounced, and he pulled back towards what he believed Harry to be, to shield the boy when something long and hard wound around his neck. "Lumos. Lumos! **Lumos!** " Nothing happened, and the Potion Master started to grow frantic, reaching for his neck to free himself. He could hear spells flying and casting in both parseltongue and Latin, but it was too overlapped to identify anything. Trying to shield himself, he slipped closer to the edge, but his 'collar' would not allow much freedom. Covering himself with a Protego, he hoped for the best.

* * *

Harry could not remember waking. One moment he was asleep, the next he was engaged in a duel, three against one. The Dark Lord's eyes were a fiery red, as he shot spell after spell at him and his friends. Hermione took up shielding, Ron was manoeuvring them, looking for a tactical advantage. Harry was meeting the parsel-spells head-on. He spotted Snape on the bed, choked by a wooden snake-bannister that had come to life. Harry wanted to help but knew that Tom would use every opening. So, he resorted to shielding his follower and then engaged in the fight. When a few Lumos were stacked on top of each other, blinding them, he floundered. But the assault never ceased. Harry needed a few moments to feel for Snape's magic through the mark before he could Nox the light.

The coordination with Ron and Hermione was as easy as breathing. The link between them wide open. What had been irritating before, was now easy and comfortable, because the trio shared a common goal: protecting each other while defeating the enemy. Of course, the teenagers knew that they could not seriously harm their opponent. Still, creative use of Wingardium Leviosa and Levicorpus gave them an edge; mostly because they were three against one. Lord Voldemort did not seem to have any scruple. He cast fire and ice, cut up fabric and tore apart furniture when the teenagers jumped out of the way of his spells. For what felt like hours, they duelled until Tom had them cornered, hiding behind overlapping shield spells, maintained by the last of their strength.

"Acceptable. It seems that fighting together comes naturally to you. Now take a shower and then come down for breakfast."

"What?" Ron croaked, holding a bleeding wound on his upper arm. The redhead looked incredulous at the Dark Lord.

Glancing down, the man cast, "Episkey," The wound healed seamlessly. "Get on with it. I am starving."

Harry demanded before Tom could leave, "Free him!"

Yet the Dark Lord only looked over his shoulder, and bared his teeth, "He's your servant. Do it yourself!"

Groaning, Hermione staggered to her feet, inspecting a tear in her jeans with regret. "I hope he won't wake us like that every morning."

Ron followed her out of the room, "I wouldn't count on it. But your wards were bloody brilliant. Could you …"

Harry approached the bed, where Snape still cowered, hunched up under a strong Protego.

"Sir, it's okay. It's over."

Cancelling the spell, the Potion Master tried to sit up, until he realised that he was still collard. "Then turn on the blasted lights!" He demanded imperiously. "And free me of this cursed binding."

"Ahm … professor, the lights are on. It's morning, already."

The man started to turn very still at that, and Harry hastened to free him of the railing by commanding the wooden snake, the Dark Lord had charmed to life to return to her place on his bedpost. Snape rubbed his throat compulsively. "I … I can't see," he whispered. Then louder, "The Dark Lord blinded me." He flinched back violently when the teenager tried to ease him. "I know. He made you a disadvantage. I think he wanted to teach me to prioritise. But it's okay. We'll find a way to end his spell. Finite Incantatem!"

Nothing happened.

* * *

A liability. The Dark Lord had made him a liability. Of course, he had. The man hated him, and without his eyes, Severus could do … nothing really. He could not analyse situations. Could not offer advice about what was happening. He could not even brew. By Merlin, he was blind! He could never brew a potion again! Of course, sense, taste and smell were equally important for potions. But without his eyes … The Potion Master did his best to swallow down a despairing sob. Voldemort had been angry, even hurt by his betrayal. He had freed him and let Harry offer him a cottage and a house-elf. It had sounded like a dream. Severus should have been on guard! Nothing good ever came his way. A home and protection? Everything had been but an illusion. Now he was a burden, not even able to navigate his new house.

Staggering up from the bed, he demanded harshly, "Bring me back to the cottage."

Surprisingly, Harry did as told. He could feel the replacement and then forced himself to inhale the soothing smell of the sea. Allowing the young man to guide him into the main room, he then shoved the teenager away. "Now leave!"

"No."

**"How dare you?"**

Seemingly not being bothered by being shouted at, the young man stepped closer. "I know you are scared, Sir. But I won't abandon you. You don't have to go through this alone. I know that Tom is a bastard and that this was his vindictive way of punishing you without violating our agreement."

"He did not punish me," Severus roared, "He **destroyed** me! I'm useless this way. Nothing but a burden!" Swallowed down a choke, there was but one advice, he could offer his 'master' in this situation. "You should cut me loose and concentrate on the bond with your friends. The Dark Lord has great expectations. You should thrive on meeting them."

When he felt a warm hand on his cheek, he startled back, tumbling over the armchair. But before he could fall and possibly split his head on the mantlepiece, strong arms caught him and guided him towards the chair. Severus was trembling all over, compulsively clenching the fabric of his robes. Only when Harry stepped even closer, did he realise that he had held on to the young man's garment instead of his own. When the child pulled him in, he was helpless but to yield. This situation was beyond terrifying. It felt nice to receive comfort when he could not even remember the last time someone had genuinely cared. "This renders me useless." He whispered, shaking from the strain of holding himself up.

"Oh, professor," the young man sighed. "You are so much more than your eyes. And this is not forever, I promise you. With Tom, everything is a test. I swear, to you, I will pass this one. I will find a way to give you your eyes back. You just have to trust me."

"You shouldn't bother." He tried to pull back. He was not worth it. Best to make Harry see that right now before he exerted his magical powers and possible favours, he gathered with the Dark Lord.

"Yes, I should!" The other insisted. "By god, have you always had such a low opinion of yourself? You know what, don't answer that. Let's get you cleaned up and then have breakfast. I promised to be back for training before lunch. And now I have to research the spell he used on you on top of that. I certainly have learned more magic this summer than any other year before." He helped Snape to his feet. "Then, I have never had my things available either, so …"

The Potion Master thought it wise not to address the mumbled comment. However, he kept it in mind.

* * *

With Harry by his side, they reached the first floor and though embarrassed, allowed the young man to help him undress. A towel preserved his modesty when they entered the bathroom. Soap, shampoo and a bathrobe were arranged within easy reach. Once he had showered and dried himself, Harry helped him back to the bedroom and offered pants and a shirt. The older wizard felt him turn away whenever he exposed himself and was infinitely grateful for it. It took them considerably more time than usual, but within half an hour Snape sat on his patio, hair combed by Harry, a tray of finger-food on his lap and a non-spilling cup of coffee on the side-table between them. He could smell the bacon and eggs the teenager had ordered for himself, and though the smell made his mouth water, he did not voice any desire for another portion. He would not be able to work the cutlery and preserve his dignity.

The soft ripping sound of fresh scones drew his attention. When the smell of warm butter and fruity jam hit his nose, he swallowed compulsively.

"Hold out your hand, palm up," Harry instructed and without thought, he obeyed. A warm scone was put in his hand. "It's raspberry jam. I hope that's alright."

Manoeuvring the treat so he could savour it, he nodded his head. "Certainly. Thank you." Once he was finished, the teenager offered more. "Strawberry jam?"

"Is apricot available?"

"Certainly," he could hear Harry grin but tried to take the next half as dignified as possible.

The situation was equally humiliating and comforting. The young man had shown foresight when he had ordered bite-sized sandwiches for him. But not even finding one's mouth without guidance, was embarrassing. Snape did not think he could suffer through lunch, without burning from shame. So, he dragged out breakfast and accepted two more halved scones before draining his coffee and then a glass of orange juice. He had always enjoyed the slightly tangy drink over the usually too sweet pumpkin juice.

When Harry finally rose, he tensed again. "We have to get back."

"I doubt that I can walk these woods."

"If you trust me, I can side-along you, like before."

"I thought that was forbidden."

He could hear the scarcely supressed chuckle, the teenager offered, "Have you ever heard the phrase, >It's better to ask forgiveness than permission.<?"

"Word's you seem to live by."

The young man grinned, "No comment. Come on, Sir."

Unsure of how to arrange himself, Severus tensed when Harry stepped into his arms. "Just relax. We'll take a step to your right, and that'll bring us to the terrace. Aright?"

"Agreed." He cautiously wrapped his arms around the other. Within a moment, he felt the smooth stone floor beneath his feet. The apparation had gone smoother than anticipated, which made him wonder how much the teenagers' magic and his own were entwined.

* * *

_*I hate you,*_ Harry hissed upon entering the salon where Ron and Hermione sat around a small table, studying.

_*Dully noted.*_ Voldemort did not even bother to look up.

_*You're just mean because you hate him!*_

Meeting the young man's eyes, deliberately switching from parseltongue to English, the Dark Lord agreed, "Yes, Harry, I hate your Potion Master. I will target him any chance I get. What do you plan to do about that?"

"You …," Harry bristled, ready to jump down the older wizard's throat, when Snape held him back, advising him quietly, "That was not a threat. That was information, so you have a chance to prepare for further assaults. You should use that knowledge wisely." Still, the human Horcrux glared at the Dark Lord when he pulled Snape down on the couch beside him, accepting the book, Hermione shoved over.

"Chapters seven to nine."

"Miss Granger," Voldemort drew the trio's attention, gesturing at a chessboard he had set up. "I challenge you for a match."

The teenagers traded glances. Hermione rose, but Harry held her back. "You want to divide our focus. Hermione is helping me right now."

"And I offered a challenge. She needs to meet it."

The young witch swayed for a moment, but then sat back down. "No, I don't. You have challenged me, but I am not obligated to accept."

With the hint of a smile, the Dark Lord tilted his head, "Where did that knowledge come from?"

After a moment, Ron replied, "Me. Charlie taught me that."

"Good. Now leave Mr. Weasley. There are brooms in the shack. Go flying."

Looking around confused, Harry demanded to know, "Where is Ron supposed to fly?"

Hermione, as always, understood immediately, "It doesn't matter, where he flies. Flying needs concentration, so he will have to do two things at once, helping me win the match and concentrate on not crashing."

"No! No, no, no, no, no. That’s not happening," Harry contradicted, approaching Tom despite Snape's efforts to keep him on the sofa. "You can put me in danger all you want. But not Ron or Hermione. Not for mere 'training' purposes! They are my friends. I'm supposed to protect them."

"Foolish child!" Voldemort hissed. _*What do you think I am doing? You three need to learn to think as one or as three separate beings! That requires training if you wish to make it through your next year at Hogwarts undetected! So, stop being noble and use the resources I offer.*_ Speaking of resources, made the Dark Lord sigh. "Fine. Barty, go! Make sure the redhead doesn't injure himself seriously. And you, Harry, get back to your books. You have a limited timeframe to undo my spell. If you take too long, your Potion Master will be blind forever!"

Harry could feel Snape tense but decided not to comment further. Picking up the book, Hermione had offered, he sank back into the cushions. Ever so slightly, he could feel his professor reaching out for him. Yet the man only allowed himself contact with but the tips of his fingers on Harry's robes. Somehow the teenager felt as if the older wizard believed that not even that should be allowed. To ease the man, he leaned against him and started to read out in a whisper. They decided to test the reflexes in the Potion Master's eyes to determine if the problem was physical or mental. His pupils dilated as expected; the organs seemed unharmed.

Lunch was about to be served, and Harry was hoarse. He had read from three books while browsing four more. They had abandoned more than half of Hermione's sources since the problem seemed to be mental or at least located in the brain and not the eyes. After the third volume, the teenager shoved the books away, suppressing an apology at Hermione's disapproving glare. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he still was not entirely used to not needing glasses, he thought, 'If we at least knew the wording of the spell, that might help to identify a counter.'

"The first spell I heard was the Sectumsempra. I'm not sure he spoke an incantation before that." Hermione commented, before moving her queenside castle, "Check."

'He might have cast wordlessly.' Ron offered, distracted.

Harry snapped at Tom, "How can I find the counter to a spell you did not even speak the enchantment?"

Thwarting the witch's plan of besting him, the Dark Lord smiled, "Just because your smart, little witch didn't understand the incantation, does not mean that there wasn't one. Stop thinking like a lion charging after an antelope, Miss Granger. You need more subtlety when engaging in mind games."

"This is not a mind game; this is chess!" The young woman protested.

'Ouch! Bloody Hell!'

"Ron!" Harry and Hermione jumped to her feet, ready to run for their friend, but Voldemort instructed them, "Sit down! We are not finished! Barty is perfectly capable of looking after him."

"Ron hurt himself!"

"He will survive. Won't he?"

Sighing, the teenager sat back, feeling the Potion Master relax beside him, once they were in contact again. "He's right, Hermione. Concentrate on your game. And I'll …"

"You said everything with him is a test," Snape recalled quietly. When Harry turned towards him, the Potion Master clasped his robe compulsively, as if he was afraid that the young man would abandon him to the darkness, with an enemy nearby. He needed but a heartbeat to realise what he was doing and released the fabric. "The Dark Lord always had plans within plans. What do you think is his goal right now?"

"Mind games … Hermione did not ‘understand' the incantation …" Harry mumbled, before exhaling defeated, turning towards Tom. "You really are a bastard."

The other grinned like a snake.

The teenager rose and trailed his wand on Snape, "Relax Professor. It will be alright in a moment." Then he cast, in parseltongue, _*End this spell.*_ [Finite Incantatem]

After blinking compulsively for a few moments, the Potion Master rose and bowed before Harry, "Thank you. Now excuse me." Then he left for the guest-wing.

When Harry wanted to follow, Tom held him back, "Don't, Harry. Severus never took weakness very well. Let him regain his composure."

Scratching the back of his neck, the teenager pleaded, "Could you then maybe not target him so visciously. He's struggling as it is."

"Checkmate," After his last move, the Dark Lord rose while Hermione was analysing the board. Gently he pulled the teenager into his arms. "You have to close the link. I understand keeping it open to be available should he need help. But right now, it's unsettling you when there is no need. You need to balance. If you open yourself up to everything your friends suffer, you will go insane."

Maybe it was mostly the seventeen-year-old Tom Riddle who made Harry nod, understand that what his older counterpart said was logical. But it was all Harry, who stepped up to Tom and hugged him close, seeking comfort. For minutes they just stood together, not saying anything.

Ron barged through the door and bounded over to Hermione and the chessboard. "I didn't … you … he … bollocks. Checkmate."

* * *


	12. August 1st 1995 - end of August 1995

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even Severus is allowed a breakdown now and then. Also, Tom and Harry find a moment to themselves. How different a Dark Lord can be when he feels safe. Please remember, that Harry and Tom choose most proceedings together, conscious or not. 
> 
> * * *

As soon as the door of 'his' guestroom closed behind him, Snape cast every ward he knew. Once he was sure the room was secure, he started screaming and slashing the curtains and bedcovers, he blasted the dresser to smithereens and then the bed frame. He raved and ranted, lashing out with his magic until he stood in the middle of shambles. Exhausted, he broke to his knees, clutched his head and screamed and screamed and screamed.

Why? Why was this his life now? Abandoned then branded anew; serving as a tool. It seemed that the only purpose of his existence was to suffer, no reprieve in sight.

"Mister Severus?"

An anxious whisper shook him out of his depressing thoughts, and he startled back from the white-clad elf beside him. Lily kneaded her little fingers nervously, but still continued, "Master asked Lil… I… me to invite you to lunch. Me is sorry to disturb you."

"I am sorry to disturb you." He corrected automatically, sighing at his reaction.

"I am sorry to disturb you," Lily repeated dutifully.

"Good," he nodded and fought his way to his feet. "I am sorry for the mess I've made. Just leave it, and I'll take care of it after lunch. Provided I have the capacity."

"Can Lil… can I do it?" The elf asked, hopefully.

"You are not my servant, Lily." Even the name of the elf hurt. Everything hurt so much …

Dejected, the girl let her ears droop. "Master Harry said that I could be if Mas… Mister Severus … you allowed it. Lil… me can do better. I," she corrected herself, "can do better, for you! I promise."

Studying the magical creature, remembering how Lucius had treated his elf, and how kind the Dark Lord had been in the kitchen the night before. Would she be punished if she were not allowed to serve him? "Would you have to hurt yourself if I rejected you?"

Frowning, the elf shook her head, "Why would Lily punish herself? Lily is a good elf. She did nothing wrong!"

Lord Voldemort was kinder to creatures than people. Severus tried not to read too much into that. Still, he had decided to take advantage. Even if he was at the bottom of the pecking order, he could make use of an elf's services freely offered. "Thank you, Lily. I would be grateful if you could mend this room."

Beaming brightly, the white-clad elf snapped her fingers. At once, his clothes were neatly pressed and free of shards and dust, hair coifed perfectly, though that irked him a little. All in all, he once again presented the perfect picture of a composed wizard. Looking into the mirror - the only thing in the room he had not destroyed - he pulled his occlumency shields tight. Tool and toy, scraping goat and whipping boy. He would get through this. Harry cared; had made every effort to support Severus and protect him to the best of his abilities. It was not the young man's fault that Lord Voldemort was targeting him, but his own for turning his back on the man he had sworn allegiance to. He deserved this treatment and would not hide from it.

Taking a deep breath, he took down the wards and left for the dining room. He would not allow Voldemort to break him. Not now when he could be free of him as soon as summer was over. The new school year had never seemed as enticing. Just him and Harry Potter; his little friends, and whatever crazy scheme fate had in store for them this year.

* * *

The crash of someone falling out of bed would undoubtedly have woken the Dark Lord, had he not been awake already. Tying the belt of his black dressing robe, he came across a sleepy Hermione and Ron, who entered the 'family' corridor from the floor below where their rooms lay.

"Harry had," Hermione started, and Ron finished, "a nightmare about the Chamber of Secrets." They were in synch at the moment.

"I'm aware. Return to sleep."

"Kind of hard when your head is filled with nightmares."

Glaring at the redhead, the Dark Lord insisted, "I have taught you sufficient occlumency to shut the connection."

"But …"

Tom Riddle watched them unwavering until they retreated.

When he entered, the occupant of the room insisted, without turning around. "I'm fine, guys. I'm sorry, I lost control of my shields."

Wordlessly Tom stepped closer. When Harry recognised his late-night-guest, he whipped around. "You! What are you doing in here? It's not as if you're not making enough trouble as it is!"

With raised eyebrows, the other demanded to know, "Really? Considering that it was you, who insisted on keeping such a big part of my soul, how could I contribute to your current misfortune?"

Angrily, Harry hissed, "Your damn Horcrux is using every chance he gets to whisper into my ear. He even forces dreams of the Chamber on me! Everything is a cat and mouse game with him, and all Tom cares about is his own bloody opinion. He nags and nags and nags until he gets his way, but **not with me**! I'm not your toy to bend to your every whim. I'm a person, and I will make my own bloody decisions!"

"Are you finished?"

"What?" The teenager gapped at the bored tone.

Claiming a chair in front of the fireplace, Tom looked up, "I asked if you were finished with your childish tantrum or if you want to go on for a little longer. Since you keep dragging me into your dreams, not allowing me to find any rest, I decided to accommodate you."

" **Accommodate me?** " Harry spat out. "This is my mind we are talking about."

"Yes, your mind. And nobody and nothing can ever change that. If you were to accept that simple truth, we could both finally get some sleep."

"Are you even listening to me?"

" **Sit!** "

Defeated, the young man sank into the chair in front of the dying fireplace. He was beyond exhausted and would give everything for a vial of Dreamless Sleep. But Snape was not ready to supply him, yet. He did not want to give the impression that he valued his professor only for his potion-making skills. "Seriously, I don't know if I can do this much longer. I'm going crazy here."

"Why? Because my Horcrux is whispering to you?"

"Every minute of every night, your seventeen-year-old self is around. He's trying to grind me down, to convince me of his ideas."

Shrugging, the older wizard demanded to know. "And what did you expect, when freely accepting that part of my soul? That my younger self would keep nice and quiet and speak when spoken to? You pulled him along for the ride. Now you'll have to live with that decision."

"That's what you want, isn't it?" Harry sighed, closer to tears than he wanted to admit. "To make me a mirror image of you, so I can help to further your plans and recruit at Hogwarts. What worked thirty years ago should work now as well. "

Sighing tiredly, Tom shook his head, "No, Harry. If that's what I wanted, I would have found a way. But this is not about me but you. You are the main soul inside of your body. Of course, my Horcrux can influence you; you chose him freely, after all. That gave him a lot more power than the tiny shard had I parted with fourteen years ago. But the last decision will always be yours. What to think, how to act and certainly when to lock a part of yourself away."

Hopefully, the young wizard looked up, "You mean shut him out?"

"More shut him in."

"I don't understand."

Shaking his head, the man inquired, "You have managed to shut your friends out the majority of the day."

"Of course, you taught us."

With a small gesture, Tom wanted to know, "What keeps you from doing the same with my Horcrux?"

"I …" Harry started but then thought about it. He hated his current dilemma but enjoyed the late-night talks he could share with his soulmate. Soulsharer? Soulpartner? What a weird concept. During the daylight hours, Tom Riddle was all about maintaining an image. His training methods were effective but harsh. He never gave an inch. When he was set on a course, he expected everyone to bow to his decisions. But at night, when it was just the two of them … it was nice. It was as if he cared.

With an elaborate wave of his wand, the older man expanded his chair and held out his hand, "Come to me, _*my Horcrux*_." When Harry curled up beside him, Tom pulled him close and kissed his hair. "I will always care about you. You know that. You are smart, have good ideas, and I know that together we can reach any goal."

Leaning into the embrace, the teenager mumbled, "You should learn to tell someone you care about him, without pointing out all the advantages this person provides for you."

"No."

"No?"

"No," Tom decided. "People would think me soft."

"Heaven forbid that." Harry chuckled.

For a few minutes, the two wizards merely bask in their proximity. In their youth, they never had anybody to simply touch them, to show affection, just for the sake of it. It was a novel concept for both, and neither would ever admit how much they wanted … even needed it. "I'm serious, Harry. You are in command. You can simply lock your mind. He manifests in the Chamber, so keep it there. Go down on occasion, talk to him … me … you know what I mean. But as long as you have a firm grip on the barrier around it, it can't influence you in any way."

"I don't know if I can do that," the teenager whispered. "What if I'm not strong enough?"

"You were strong enough to kill a basilisk. This is child's-play."

"I …"

Tom started to card his fingers through Harry's growing hair. "Lay down and close your eyes. We'll do it together tonight. Tomorrow you can use your outings to Severus for occlumency lessons."

Relieved, Harry closed his eyes, concentrated on the soothing rhythm of Tom's fingers. "Breathe calmly and close your eyes. Let the dream come. I'll be there."

* * *

Looking around, Tom commented, "You have an excellent memory. These surroundings look nearly identical to how I remember them." Turning around, he spotted a twelve-year-old. "Why are you so young?"

Looking down on himself, Harry had never noticed that he de-aged in his dreams, he shrugged, "Maybe because I was twelve when I came here?"

That was an entirely different can of worms since the boy looked closer to eleven than a beginning teenager. But Tom was not ready to go into this yet. So, he gestured towards the door, "Is he in there?"

The child nodded, and admitted somewhat fearfully, "He always tries to drag me in here. Or he creates a bridge between the chamber and my current dream. I can never find a moment of peace." He sounded afraid, more uncertain than when awake. Or maybe, the young man had just learned to hide his feelings better.

"And why don't you simply close the door? The Chamber can be sealed, as you very well know. No way in our out." Actually, in dreams, there were countless bridges from one dreamscape to the next. But if Tom could make Harry belief that he could simply lock this door, he would have his Horcrux contained for a while. In the end, mind-magic was all about conviction.

"I …" Harry studied the portal and nodded slowly. "Yes … yes, I could do that. And there is no other way out. Because if there were, the basilisk would not have been contained to the Chamber since Vol… you set him free all those years ago."

The time-frame was all messed up, but that aside, the logic was sound. "Exactly. So, how do you close the door."

_*Close*_ The boy commanded and when the vast gate closed and the snake-locks engaged, he smiled up at the other wizard, all childish innocence and faith, "Just like that. And now he can't come out any longer."

"No," the Dark Lord caressed the child's head and didn't even tense when the boy wrapped his arms around him. "Now he's safely contained. What do you plan on doing now?"

"I think," Harry yawned, "I think I'm going to bed." And with that they were at the top of Gryffindor tower, the child climbing into a four-poster-bed, curling up under the covers. "Will you stay?" He whispered. "Just to be sure that I got it right?"

Leaning against the headboard, Tom let the child could curl up beside him. "Of course. I will guard your dreams. Good night _*my Horcrux*_."

"Night, Tom."

* * *

Opening his eyes, Tom Riddle slipped a cushion under Harry's head. The young man was sleeping soundly. They would have to go over his occlumency barriers, enforce and adapt them to this highly unusual situation. But for tonight, he had offered enough conviction that Harry's shields should do the rest.

After covering the young man with a blanket, he pondered the situation, when leaving for his room. He had not anticipated the part of his soul to take such an … active approach to convince the teenager of their ways. And if he remembered correctly, at seventeen, he had been impatient, full of big ideas and clever plots. Some of them had worked, and Harry would benefit from knowing them. Others had not because he had wanted too much, too soon.

Eventually, Harry and his Horcrux needed to come to an arrangement to utilise their shared knowledge. But that was a problem for another day. Tonight, they could finally get some rest.

* * *

A part of Severus wanted to rant, to demand his personal space, but another, smaller, hidden part, forced him to keep his mouth shut, every time Harry Potter came to visit. For the last weeks, the young man had developed a habit of appearing mid-morning. He apparated into the small back garden, greeted Severus with a brief hug when he was out already, or touch his arm if he was brewing. Then Harry would situate himself on the porch. If the Potion Master was working, he left him be, but during the last week, Severus had caught himself adjusting his brewing hours to not interfere with Harry's visits. It was never smart to let one's master wait. At least that was what he told himself.

Harry usually engaged his studies, homework or some book Severus had never seen before. Right after his birthday, Harry had made a conscient effort to get to know him. The teenager had asked about his youth, parents, schooling, and career that had made him the youngest Potion Master in England since the 18-hundreds. His questions and their time together were marked by little touches, and innocent demonstrations of sympathy, that had had Severus tense at the beginning. However, he had gotten used to them over time. The longer they talked, the more Harry seemed to pick up on topics he wanted to avoid and adapted. In return, the young man shared the crazy adventures he had experienced since coming to Hogwarts. As the head of Slytherin House, Severus realised that this child had never had an authority figure he could trust. The trio had talked to McGonagall about their suspicions about the philosopher's stone. They had spoken to Hagrid. But no adult had been willing to listen. Scared as they had been for Harry's life, they had taken it upon themselves to 'fight evil' on their own. The basilisk had not been understood by anybody but Harry, and when Ginny Weasley had been kidnapped, they had to force the Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher to join them.

What the Potion Master had considered childish arrogance, had been nothing but desperation. Now, he regretted the harsh words and thoughts he had offered over the years. It helped that the young man did not look like a carbon copy of his father any longer. No glasses, haircut and wardrobe, and more confidence - without appearing arrogant - helped Severus separate tormenting memory from the here and now. Still, a part of him advised caution of this 'new' Potter. That it was only sensible to maintain an emotional distance because the young man had far too much power over him already. He had no control in their relationship, and the fact that he had come to enjoy Harry's visits had him on edge.

So, Severus was surprised when the teenager inquired about occlumency lessons. A tiny, sadistic part of him had agreed all too readily and with the command, "Clear your mind," he dove in, hoping to find something, anything he could use to his advantage.

Minutes later, Harry helped him up from where he was shaking on the floor. "Hey, I'm sorry. It's okay; you're safe." The teenager soothed, hugging him. Severus wanted to preserve his dignity, to pull back, but being chased by a gigantic basilisk left an impression that was not easy to shake off. While Voldemort's and Dumbledores' minds were walls for him, Harry's defences were purgatory. Cautiously, he closed his arms around the arms that stabilised him, needing the contact to ground himself. He should be stronger than this. More composed. He was the teacher, after all. But Harry would not let go. Was he still trembling?

"I apologise, Professor. I should have explained better about the type of occlumency I need. Keeping other people out is less of a problem. Tom taught us the basics when we realised that we would need shields to keep out of each other's heads. The basilisk is a kind of intuitive defence mechanism when someone else than Ron or Hemione enter my mind."

"A harsh choice," Severus rasped. Had he shouted, or worse screamed in terror during their connection, afraid of a monster that existed only in the young man's mind? "What about … what about the Dark Lord?" He forced himself to ask.

Rubbing his arm before letting go, the teenager smiled, "Tom's and my connection are a different matter entirely. I can't shield from him, and neither can he hide from me. We came to an … agreement of sorts. But this is not about my outer defences, but inner workings. Tom says you are the best. Reluctantly, I admit," Harry smiled. "I need your help in how to keep his Horcrux contained."

Stepping back the moment he had been released, not at all mourning the loss of comfort, Severus forced himself to breath calmly. He took a few moments to analyse the problem. Lily had served tea, so he busied himself with doctoring the cup, Harry had poured for him. He worked hard on suppressing the rage that ran over him at the thought of Voldemort's soul in Harry's body. "You wish to … get rid of it?" Was that question too audacious? Too insulting for someone who had chosen this fate? Maybe he could still find a way to get Lily's son away from her murderer.

He was taken aback when Harry rose rather abruptly. "If that is still your thought on the matter of Tom's and my association, I better leave." Interpreting his 'first advisor's' face correctly, the teenager chuckled humourlessly. "I'm not the naïve child that came to Hogwarts four years ago, Severus. I am no longer above using others' mistakes to my advantage. You never closed your mind after casting _Leglimens_. That's practically an engraved invitation for me to enter it. I trust Tom, with my life, even with the lives of my friends. If you can't get behind that, maybe it is better to let you go. After all, what use do I have for a man who doesn't trust my judgement?" He turned on the spot and was gone.

Severus worked hard to keep his breaths even and not let panic drown him at the thought of being cast aside again. If the young man abandoned him, he … he could not protect him. Severus would lose the last connection to Lily and the only person who had ever considered him worthy.

* * *


	13. Last Week of August 1995

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things are important in this chapter.
> 
> First: The extend of the manipulations Severus experiences will become a little more apparent. I've already replied to two comments, who have mentioned that. So I feel the need to point something out: This is not a nice story! Harry will become more like Voldemort as it goes on and that includes manipulating people to WANT to do his bidding. There will be no nice, romantic relationship between Harry and Severus. Sure, there will be nice scenes, where they are both at ease. But at least as many, where Severus is pushed to defer to Harry's will. That's how I wanted the story to go.  
> If you don't want to read that, please stop! Fanfiction should be fun for the writer and the reader and I don't want you to feel bad because Harry behaves rather dark on occasion.
> 
> Second: Even though Harry has only 'scratched the surface' of bending Severus to his will, the Potion Master already WANTS to be one of his followers. I know that his inner monologue is not fully in accordance with the acerbic Potion Master Rowling wrote. That's because he's had different experiences in my story and his master does everything in his power to make him WANT TO come back. So he finds a way to justify his actions. I hope that I've made it as believable as possible, given the circumstances.
> 
> Apart from that: Enjoy :)
> 
> * * *

Harry entered the library with hurried steps. Tom was about to scold him about interrupting Ron's lessons, but the teenager demanded, "Shut up!" before crowding the Dark Lord, grabbing his waistcoat. "Shut up. Shut up. Shut up!"

"Take the book, Mr. Weasley. We'll continue tomorrow."

With a brief squeeze of Harry's shoulder, the redhead left.

Pulling the teenager close by the scruff of his neck, Tom whispered, "I know you hate it, but we can't afford divided loyalties."

"He's so … hurt, … and so fucking scared," Harry whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Your connection is still open?" At the young man's nod, the Dark Lord demanded harshly, "Shut it!"

But Harry shook his head, "No, I did this to him. I have to know what he's going through to be able to … to guide him."

Sighing, offering his hand for the taking, Tom advised, "I will show you how to shield without shutting him out completely." It was as easy as breathing for them to work Harry's mindscape. Harry, Ron and Hermione were still adjusting, patching up holes in their shields, learned to work in tandem. Together they were an unbeatable team, but otherwise, there were still hiccups; mostly strong emotions slipped through. But Tom Riddle and Harry Potter together, it was as if their minds were one. One soul older, more experienced, settled in a way the teenager hoped to achieve one day. The other young, hopeful, eager to learn, with a bigger capacity for kindness and cunning than anybody could fathom. Together, they were unstoppable. When Tom showed Harry how to erect a transparent shield between himself and Severus, the young man could still register his advisor's desperation but was not suffocated by it any longer.

Sliding onto the couch next to Tom, the young wizard kneaded his hands, apologising to the carpet.

"No need, _*my Horcrux*_ , nobody expects you to get everything right the first time. You have done remarkably well with Severus Snape on your own, binding him to you, gaining not only his compliance but his sympathy. I might not have believed how much one could achieve with simple touches and constant proximity, but you have taught me better in such a short time. Soon, you can return to Hogwarts and work from there."

A tiny smile appeared on Harry's face. "So, the situation between you and Barty has improved?"

"That is none of your business, nosy child! Concentrate on the matter at hand," The Dark Lord snapped.

The younger's face fell. "I still feel wrong to put him through this. I understand the need, but I'm not too fond of it. Dumbledore is too good at manipulation to allow even my strongest follower a fraction of doubt, but …"

"But the little kid in you, that craved nothing, but acceptance shies away from manipulating others for his own gain."

When Harry nodded, Tom inquired, "What is Ron and Hermione's opinions on this matter?"

Shrugging, his 'equal' looked out of the window. "Ron's tired of the manipulations. He, his family, basically the majority of the wizarding world are dancing to Dumbledore's tune. He understands your agenda and that to succeed, sometimes the end justifies the means. Hermione … she's too kind. While she has an idea of what magic is capable off, she still can't understand the full scope. Occlumency, Leglimency, she is a natural at mind arts, like with basically everything else. But she can't even imagine the abuse that's possible with mind magic. I think that's why she was okay with the more 'psychological' approach I took with Severus. It would not even come to her to rewrite his mind to suit our needs. But touching him, being around, merely being kind and interested in his work, his thoughts … to her, that's just decent human behaviour. I think she's not even aware of how much a person can become dependant on his only source of comfort."

"An opinion you share?"

"Yes, … No, … I …" sighing, the teenager turned back to his soulmate. "I think sooner or later we'll reach a point where we have to rewrite him when we return to Hogwarts at the latest. If Dumbledore is really that good of a Leglimens as you say, we need to adjust Severus' beliefs to fit our story. Ron, Hermione and I have an advantage because we are three to one. Severus is alone. But I don't want to erase his memories, just …"

"Lock them up so you can return them at a time of your choosing?"

"Yes! Is that possible?"

"It will be a challenge. We need to work together, to fool Dumbledore. And that includes your Potion Master."

Tapping into the man's feelings, noticing relieved that his panic had died down by now, Harry nodded. "He will agree."

"How do you know?"

"Because the 'psychological approach' you've proposed worked. He's ready to give in."

Grinning, Tom reminded, "That was not me."

"Teenage-you, adult-you, same difference."

* * *

When their minds were one, Hermione enjoyed flying as much as Harry and Ron did. After an exhilarating afternoon and a lunch Severus had not participated in, Harry entered a small room in the attic. He and Lily had charmed everything in here to his liking, the walls a warm grey, the carpet a soft cream and the stuffy armchair had emerald upholstery. Ron and Hermione had duped it his, 'Slytherin conference room', when Harry had explained, that this was the place where he was most comfortable with his Horcrux. Hermione had cautioned against giving the soul-piece a room. But Harry didn't want to let himself be trapped in his own mind and drawing teenage-Tom out by giving it more energy to manifest was a stupid idea all around. So, he ignited the candles and unveiled the three-part mirror in the centre of the room, before closing his eyes, and started his meditation.

"See who came around to grace me with his presence." A posh voice piped up.

Smiling, the teenager opened his eyes, watching the Horcrux claim the chair that reflected in the mirror. "Did you miss me, Tom?"

Narrowing his eyes at the mockery, the seventeen-year-old hissed, "You can't keep me confined forever."

Shrugging, Harry replied, "Of course, I can. My shields are getting stronger every day. So, if you insist on being a bastard that's just adding another lock to your chamber." That was true, and both knew it. Still, the Horcrux was not willing to give up that easy.

"You have accepted me because you know we are stronger together than you could ever be alone!"

"Of course, but that didn't mean that you could make a merry-go-round of my brain." With an off-handed gesture, the teenager continued, "Anyway, we need to talk about Severus."

"Oh, your pet-Potion Master. Did you finally break him? Pet him into submission, so to speak."

Sharply, Harry contradicted, "I have no intention to 'break him'. He's brilliant and far more experienced than the two of us. We need him!"

Looking away, the other corrected, "You mean **you** need him. I did rather well on my own."

"Yes, and because you did so well, you're now a soul shard in your enemy's body."

"How dare you?" The seventeen-year-old rushed towards the mirror. "You can't even fathom the greatness I was able to achieve at Hogwarts. How I forged the base of an empire."

"An empire, you ruined with delusions of grandeur!" Harry hissed back. "You … alright, alright, let's stop." With effort, the teenager swallowed his anger. "I did not come here to fight."

"No, you came because you need advice from the Horcrux you imprisoned in your mind. I'm not a toy to be pulled out when you want to play with it and shove it back into the box when you grow bored!"

"No, I didn't," the teenager contradicted softly. " I came to tell you that the plan to 'make Severus want my presence', worked better than expected."

"What?" Dumbfounded the other sank back into the armchair.

Smiling, Harry continued, "I think Severus has finally realised that he can't 'save' me from Tom. That he needs to accept my allegiance to the Dark Lord."

Eyes alight, Tom Riddle wanted to know, "You think he will bend to you?"

"He will have to. If we want to return to Hogwarts, we need to adjust his memories, at least for the first few days, until Dumbledore has lost his suspicions that we are keeping something from him. I doubt we can do that if he won't let us in."

" **You** can. You marked him after all. But it would hurt if you did it by force." Tom conceded.

"That's not what I want."

"You're too soft, Harry."

"Love gets you farther than fear."

The seventeen-year Tom Riddle sneered, "You are naïve if you think that's true."

"Maybe," Harry agreed, "but a teenager's love for my mother made him risk his life to save mine when he had a chance to escape. And now he will yield against better judgement, just to be able to stay by my side. _My way_ will win us this war with minimum casualties."

"At least you acknowledge that there will be a war."

Sighing, Harry looked out into the stary night, admitting quietly, "With the witches and wizards of Britain and the muggleborns as set in their ways as it is, I'm afraid there never was a chance to avoid it."

"Harry," the other drew back his attention with the calm demand, "I never wanted to eradicate the muggleborns from our world. I hated them because of their ignorance because they would not accept the ways of magic. But even at seventeen, I knew that we would die without their new blood. They just need to …"

"… be taught the right way." Harry agreed. "But after nearly thirty years of allowing the purebloods to cultivate their hatred of them, I'm not sure how much we can do. Nothing short of a revolution, overthrowing the current government would work. That will inevitably lead to bloodshed. Ron agrees, and he knows this society far better than I do."

"Sometimes, you have to cut a wound open and bleed out the infection for the body to heal."

"Yea," the muggle-raised admitted. "But that does not mean that I have to like it."

* * *

Harry had not come the next day. Had offending Voldemort inevitably ended in suffering a Crucio, disappointing Harry was worse. At least the torture Curse was over after a few minutes, even if the after-effects could last for a few days. Still, with his potions, Severus had always managed. Harry, however, would not retaliate. He would simply let him go. That meant ending his career in Britain. Start somewhere else because Voldemort would rather kill him than have him around without allegiance. For more than a decade, the Potion Master had dreamed of such a chance. He had lost the Dark Mark, the shackle that had tied him to the mistakes of his past. Yet his new mark, the one he had asked for, would remain.

Forcing himself to analyse his situation, Severus Snape realised that he did not want to leave. He had lain awake last night. Had felt like lead when he had forced himself out of bed this morning. But the conclusion had been inevitable right from the beginning. He wanted … needed Harry because, during the last few weeks, the boy had become the only master, he had ever chosen for himself. Not because of honeyed words dripping with poison. Not because a powerful wizard had demanded allegiance in return for the life of his childhood friend. But someone whose first act had been to protect him. A young man he had been willing to die for. It had been trickery and deception, a setup, right from the beginning. Yet, even if he had known, his reactions would have been the same. He could admit that, at least to himself.

Harry Potter looked at him … treated him as if he were precious, someone to care about, even though Severus had not even proven himself until now. Of course, he had tried to save the idiot boy's life. Yet, he had learned that Harry did not put a lot of stock in his own well-being. Still, he had accepted Severus into his service; had even stood up to the Dark Lord for him. Nobody had ever done that since Lily. Did that alone not make the boy deserving of his loyalty, no matter which side he had chosen? The Dark Lord had been evil incarnated; had condoned torture and bloodshed. Yet, in the end, it did not matter. Harry would never give him the chance to do anything by halves, and rightfully so. He had been named the first advisor, and what kind of advisor would he be if he doubted his master's decisions? Voldemort had been hard to advise. He had listened, but if he had not liked the suggestions, he had made his displeasure known through torture. Harry would never do that, but Severus realised that the teenager made his irritation known in a way that hurt at least as much as the Cruciatus.

Ignored.

Abandoned.

Not good enough.

He wanted this part of his life to be over. Harry had given him the chance to be someone, to be seen and heard; had defended him. For the last few weeks, the young man had given every impression that he considered Severus worthy, a friend even. He had listened to his advice, his teachings. He had not dismissed anything Severus had said, no matter if he had talked about a potion the young man had no hope to understand, or if he had suggested a book for Harry's current topic of interest. The young man had been attentive and treated him with the same kindness and affection he usually reserved for Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Not at all the arrogant, little fool he had thought him to be. Harry Potter might have started as Lily Evan's son, but Severus Snape had come to respect him as his own person. The teenager wanted to change their world for the better and had asked for his help. As a Potion Master, he could only do so much good. But as an advisor for a person of interest, of influence … the right word could make or break someone. Passing up that chance would be foolish, bordering on stupidity. Severus Snape had been many things in the past, but he had never been a fool.

An hour to lunch, he apparated to the manor.

* * *

A house-elf with a shimmering brown napkin-toga popped up behind a bush when Severus appeared. "Can Rhodes be helping Master Severus?"

"I am looking for Harry."

"The young Master is in the arena." The little elf gestured towards the side of the house. "Brian and Rhodes … I have cleared away a part of the Orchard and maze to make room for training grounds. Brian even put out sand." The elf seemed proud of his brother and smiled brightly.

Tilting his head in gratitude, the Potion Master rounded the corner and froze. The moment he passed some invisible barrier, he found himself at the edge of a duelling ring, where curses, hexes and jinxes of all colours were flying around. In the middle the trio: Hermione centre, Harry left and Ron at their backs. They seemed to alternate seamlessly between shielding, attacking and regrouped at random intervals. Voldemort and Barty Crouch were circling them, firing without holding back. The air was charged with heavy magic, making it hard to breathe. While the teenagers seemed able to hold their own, sooner or later they would falter, simply because even their combined magical cores, had nothing on the Dark Lord's experience.

As soon as he was spotted, however, Voldemort changed tactics. He left Barty to defend him and started attacking Severus. While the Potion Master was good, he too would not be able to stand up to his former Master indefinitely. When a bone-shattering curse slipped past his shield, he bit down a cry of agony. The next second, a wave of pure magic swept everybody off their feet. Casting a shield with the last of his strength – the pain was draining him rapidly – Severus watched the Dark Lord rise and approached his equal. In a surprisingly warm tone, he complimented the exhausted teenager, "Very good, now we merely need to channel this power correctly, and nobody will be able to stand against the three of you."

Allowing the Dark Lord to help him up, Harry spat out, "You had no right to include Severus. This exercise was supposed to be between the three of us."

Sharply, the older wizard scolded, "This is not about any 'right' I have! He was there, and I used him to distract you. You rose to the challenge, so all is well. Life is not fair, as you are well aware, so get over your childish views."

Stubbornly, the young man crossed his arms and glowered. "Heal him!"

Fighting his way to his feet, assisted by Barty, Severus wanted to protest, but the other wizard hissed, "Shut up you fool!"

" _Os Emendo_ ," the Dark Lord threw over his shoulder with a lazy gesture. "There, happy now? Now come on, we don't have time to coddle your advisor. We have business to attend to."

The healing charm was as agonising as the curse, but within a heartbeat, Severus felt as if the last few minutes had not happened. He had expected a half-hearted attempt at healing at best, but Voldemort had put enough power into his spell, to heal even poorly set bones Severus had suffered since childhood. Amazed Severus opened and closed his left hand, not feeling even the slightest discomfort. Since his father had broken the three middle fingers in a drunken fit, there had always been a residual ache. Now … nothing. Things simply had snapped back into place, making him feel better than he had in a very long time.

* * *

When Harry waved away his plate at lunch, Tom inquired sharply, "What do you think you are doing?"

"If I'm supposed to return to Hogwarts as some kind of prisoner of war, I need to look emaciated. Not eating for a week seems to be the easiest way to achieve that. I've already eaten for more these last three months than usually during my holidays."

"You idiot boy, you can't …" Severus growled, appalled at the ease with which Harry spoke about starving himself, or more being starved. What was worse was that Ron and Hermione seemed not surprised, though of course, they protested the plan. What happened during the summer months? Worse, how had Harry been treated before he had received his Hogwarts' letter? Such a casual mentioning of starvation spoke of a rather detrimental relationship with food. He interrupted himself when the Dark Lord merely flickered his wand, and a place-setting appeared before Harry. "Eat!"

"But, we agreed that I …"

With a deep breath, as if praying for patience, Voldemort stating, "No matter what, I won't allow any part of our plan ever to impede your mental or physical health. Starvation will never be a benefit, punishment or in any other way a feasible plan."

"But it would be easiest …"

"No!" The Dark Lord roared. His magic made dishes, glasses and even the furniture tremble. Ron and Hermione merely reached for their drinks, but Severus cautiously rose to guide his students out of this potential warzone. Yet before he could even get them to stand, the trembling ceased. He noticed that Harry had taken Voldemort's hand.

"You are not taking the food away from me. You are not punishing me or 'educating' me as they did with you. You are not like them, Tom."

"I won't let you starve," the older wizard insisted.

"But I have to appear …"

"Exactly," Hermione interrupted sensibly. "You have to look the part, Harry. I'm sure between the six of us; we can find a way to spell, charm or even curse an item, so you _look_ gaunt."

Taking back his hand, picking up his cutlery, the Dark Lord tilted his head, "A sensible suggestion, Miss Granger."

With a smile and a consenting nod, Harry copied the action. "Fine, you win. Then all that's left to do is decide on the memories we need to take from Severus, so he can 'rescue' me."

All of a sudden, the Potion Master lost his appetite.

* * *


	14. August 30th - September 1st 1995

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * * *

Sundown two days before September 1st, found Severus Snape in the middle of a dark room. Before him, face unreadable loomed Harry Potter. Not the boy he had taught for four years, but the wizard who had claimed him as his first advisor. A man who had fought, then aligned himself with Voldemort; who had become the Dark Lord's equal. Said Dark Lord stood at his back, glancing over his soulmate's shoulder at Severus as if he was vermin, a means to an end and nothing more. Ron Weasley stood right; Hermine Granger left. The four radiated power and he swayed in the eye of their storm.

"Are you ready?" Harry wanted to know. It was a mere formality. Of course, the Potion Master was not ready. Nobody could ever be prepared to have his memories re-arranged like building blocks of a children's castle. But he had no choice.

Gracefully he sank to his knees before his master, opening his arms, his hands, his mind, "I am."

_"Obliviate …"_

* * *

> _Severus found himself in a room, lit by but half a dozen candles. Through a half-open doorway, he could see others, masked yet familiar faces. He sank to his knees when a dark figure stepped out of the shadows. "My Lord." Voldemort had returned, what he had feared had come to pass. The Potion Master prayed that this new body had not come at the cost of Harry Potter's. He could not suffer another failure, not when it came to Lily's boy._
> 
> _At a sharp gesture, the door closed. Apparently, the Dark Lord was eager not to be overheard._
> 
> _"Severus," That silky voice had made an appearance in many of his nightmares. "It is so good to see you. From what my followers have told me, you remained faithful, fortifying your position at Hogwarts, preparing young snakes for their place in the new world order."_
> 
> _Sealing away all emotions, the Potion Master rose to his feet. Though he kept his eyes downcast, Snape nodded. "I believed to act according to your wishes, my Lord."_
> 
> _"Very well." The other man stepped closer. Not even six feet remained between them. "To reward such faithfulness, I will let you, and only you witness my greatest triumph."_
> 
> _"Master," the wizard choked, dreading what was about to come._
> 
> _Pulling back the invisibility cloak, Voldemort revealed the gaunt form of Harry Potter, who was cowering at his feet. The boy's hair was matted against his head, and his clothes made him appear even smaller than his fifteen years. His complexion was of a sickly grey. Only thanks to his occlumency, was Snape able to hold his ground. If he acted irrationally now, they would both die. He needed to find a way out for both of them! The portkey he had on himself as a last resort, dug into his sternum._
> 
> _"Do you, …" he forced himself to speak clearly, "Do you wish for me to dispose of this abomination, Master?"_
> 
> _Voldemort pulled out his wand. "No, this nuisance, I will get rid of myself."_
> 
> _"Avada …"_
> 
> _Instinctively Severus pulled his wand. " **Sectumsempra!** " He reached for the boy._

The portkey was violent, had Snape topple over in the middle of the great hall with Harry barely conscious in his arms. The screams of the students surrounded him, and his precious cargo. A headache explode violently; it nearly made him vomit. Weasley and Granger were at his side in a heartbeat, pulling Harry away from him. He suppressed the impulse to fight them. The weak boy allowed his friends to help him to his feet. Severus forced himself to rise as well, as Dumbledore came over, ushering them out. In a stern voice, he ordered, "Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, a second, please. I just want to have a look at Harry before you can escort him to the infirmary."

Severus noticed that the students reached for their friend's hand, entwining their fingers. They were pale and jittery, obviously afraid that Harry would be taken away again. Yet Dumbledore only tilted up the boy's head and looked into his glassy eyes. He would not use mind-arts on an exhausted child, would he? He had not risked life and limb, destroying any chance of spying for the Order, for the headmaster to harm Harry Potter further. They had gotten out with second to spare. If he hadn't attached the portkey to his robes, neither of them would have made it.

"Go," Dumbledore seemed finished with his inspection. As the teenager's shuffled away, he turned towards his Potion's professor. "I expect a full report. Please join me in my office."

Exhausted, yet compelled to obey, Severus followed. He threw but one, last glance over his shoulder, to make sure that the idiotic children would indeed lead Potter to Madam Pomfrey. He was puzzled by what he witnessed. The boy stood between his two friends, eyes digging into Snape's, offering his hands for a quiet high-five, which the other two responded to with a triumphant grin. Then they left. What was going on?

* * *

The Head of Slytherin House felt like he had been through the wringer. Dumbledore had interrogated him for close half the night and nearly all of the next day, with but a one-hour break after lunch. Again, and again he had Snape tell him about all the places he had looked for Potter and where he had finally found him. How he had discovered Voldemort's return and why he had not sent word to the Order. Of course, the headmaster had agreed that rescuing Harry had been the priority. But if he had known about the Dark Lord's return, he could have initiated steps to protect the wizarding world from this madman.

Snape felt like he was on a merry-go-round and not the fun kind.

When he returned to his rooms in the evening, he was beyond exhausted. He felt not up to take dinner in the Great Hall, especially since he had a mere day to prepare for classes come Monday. Usually, he would have been at Hogwarts for the last two weeks, sorting the potion ingredients into the students' cupboards, putting the final touches to his curriculum. Now he only had Sunday - tomorrow - to get ready. Though he felt like he could sleep for a year, he was determined that with a Pepper-Up and dinner he could re-work last year's class schedule to fit his needs.

His wand snapped into his hand, the moment he entered his quarters. Someone was here! "Show yourself!" He demanded harshly, slowly turning on his axis.

He should have been surprised by the boy's audacity, but in truth, he felt somewhat … elated(?) when Harry Potter took off his invisibility cloak. Before he could start shouting, the teenager raised his hands. "If I can tell you something, nobody knows, not even yourself, will you answer one question and follow one request?"

Mistrustful, both of the request and his unexpected feelings, Snape demanded to know, "Why would I do that, Potter?" The boy was reasonable, but a tiny part at the back of his mind told him that a Potter could not be trusted. Harry, maybe, but a Potter? Where had that thought come from?

"Because I'm asking. Please, Sir." Why was the boy looking so damn earnest? Why did it feel right to give in to the demand? Why would Snape even trust anything James Potter's son said? He nearly stepped back, when the young man came closer, imploring, "Please, Professor, I promise everything will make sense in a minute. You just have to agree. I trade information against one request. I will leave immediately after if you want me to. I swear!"

Glaring, the Potion Master challenged, "What could you ever tell me, that would make it worth my while?"

Meeting his eyes, Potter disclosed, "You don't have a Dark Mark any longer."

"Get out!" The former Death Eater hissed viciously.

The teenager nodded towards his wrist. "Take a look."

That was not … it couldn't be … the mark had shackled him to the mistakes of his youth for nearly two decades … he would know if …

Dumbfounded Severus Snape stared at his blank forearm. To make sure, he pulled back the sleeve from his right wrist as well. Then he cast, "Finite Incantatem." Still blank. He did not look up, yet his breathing became laboured. "What's your question, Potter?"

When had the boy come closer? How did he dare to enter his personal space? Snape did not like people touching him, so he pulled back before the other could touch his shoulder, "Do you think that the headmaster will look into your mind again, about my rescue? "

Chuckling humourlessly, the spy snapped, "I believe the headmaster had his fill of rummaging through my brain. He used the majority of the day to do so."

The boy seemed relieved. Why was the child relieved? This was none of his concern.

"Now the request," Potter insisted.

Barely able to tear his eyes away from his bare skin, the Potion Master nodded.

"Step in front of a mirror and look at your chest."

"How dare you …"

"Professor," the pleading tone was back. No glee or cruel sneering that preceded Snape's humiliation, like he had seen on Potter Senior's face so many times. Just this earnest look. "You can go to your bathroom. I'll stay here. I'll even turn around."

Angrily, the older wizard stalked towards his bathroom and practically ripped open his robe and dress-shirt. He gaped, brushing over the lightning bolt marking over his heart. Pulling out his wand, he stormed back into his living-room. Yet before he could even start shouting, the 'Chosen One', showing both hands, his wand on Severus' dresser.

"Think, professor. Consider everything you know about yourself. Can you believe, for a heartbeat, that I could mark you without your consent?" When Snape did not shoot him down immediately, he continued, "There was more to your summer than rescuing me. You allowed me to change your memories. But they are not erased, just buried. You understand the theory better than I do. But I promise everything will make sense in a moment if you allow me to cast just one spell."

Trembling from anger at the mere thought of someone toying with his mind, Snape hissed, "You are not skilled enough for a manipulation of that magnitude."

The boy smiled ever so slightly. "You are right; I had help. But we made damn sure that I could undo it on my own. I just need one spell. With your permission, of course."

"What spell?" Slowly lowering his wand, the Potion Master pondered his options. He knew that Potter was not lying, but there was more to this than the child admitted.

"Finite Incantatem."

Gesturing towards the wand, the older wizard ordered, "Just that. Nothing else."

Picking up the tool, the teenager agreed. "Just that. I swear on my mother's grave."

Severus Snape had barely time to process that vow when Harry Potter raised his wand and hissed, _*End this spell.*_

He cried out in agony when a month worth of memories came flooding back.

* * *

"Harry?"

"It's alright, Severus. I'm here."

What had he done? All the unkind thoughts. All the harsh words. His master had to be furious. He clutched the offered hand. When he felt a second hand on the back on his neck, he pondered sinking to his knees. Voldemort's ire could be tempered with such gestures … sporadically. But then, Severus could barely move, sitting on his sofa with Harry on his coffee table, bracketed by his legs. The touch on his neck was not restricting, more grounding, and he was grateful for it. It felt right.

He started to tremble again when his mind began to process his returned memories. He breathed unbelievingly, "You protected me from Voldemort's anger. He was ready to kill me. You put yourself in harm's way for me. You … by Merlin, you cut your wrist!" Frantically, the older wizard turned over the hand he had been clutching, inspecting the unmarked skin at the wrist. He did not pull up Harry's sleeve, recalling perfectly what he would find there. Nothing he felt ready to go into right now.

"Of course, I stepped up to Tom. You're mine. I protect my own."

"The cottage!" The Potion Master breathed, looking up in awe. "You gave me a house."

The boy … young man, offered a smile so bright it lit up even his dreary dungeon quarters. "A home, I hope."

"A home." Severus closed his eyes, bowing his head. Nobody had ever gone to such lengths for him. Nobody had cared this last decade. But Harry … they had spent time together. Severus was safe with him. Even now, it did not feel wrong to take comfort from the other's touch. Oh, how the mighty had fallen. For years he had convinced himself that he needed nobody but himself, trapped in a tug-o-war between Dumbledore and Voldemort. But now …

"Do you want me to stay tonight? I could take the sofa."

Pulling back, the Potion Master shook his head. "No, I don't need a babysitter. I'm well versed in the art of Occlumency. I can process my memories on my own. Also, I need to revise next year's schedule. And I should greet the new Slytherins now. I think that's overdue already."

He pointedly ignored the mischievous eyes that followed him, as he made his way out of the door. He could regain his composure. Best to wane himself of the young man's presence as soon as possible. For weeks they had spent hours together every day, talking, sometimes not even that, merely existing side by side. He had not felt alone, something he had come to enjoy, no matter how reluctant. But needs a must. His new master was a Gryffindor, a student and he was the 'dungeon bat'. If they wanted to fool Dumbledore and the rest of the wizarding world, they could take no chances.

* * *

When he returned, he found Harry Potter sitting at his couch table, setting down a bowl of steaming vegetables, beside a plate of chicken breasts and steamed potatoes. Pudding stood at the end, not the chocolaty, overly sweet kind Severus despised, but a fruity tart one could enjoy with but a dash of whipped cream.

"What are you doing here?" He had told the young man that he could go. Had been prepared to spend his evening in solitude.

Grinning, Harry shared, "You forget something. The moment I touch your skin, I'm in your head. You can't shield against me."

"I told you that I don't need you to stay with me tonight. I'm not a child!" The Potion Master insisted, desperate to preserve the last of his dignity. He could not cling to a mere student. No matter how fundamentally they were connected.

"Correct," the student admitted. "But I did not ask if you 'needed' me, but if you wanted me here."

With a sigh of defeat, the professor gave in, choosing a place facing Harry. "Why are you not joining dinner in the Great Hall? Won't that raise suspicion?" They could not afford that.

"Poppy gave me a once over. She decided that, despite being slightly malnourished, I suffer nothing, that a few meals and more rest can't cure. Ron and Hermione accompanied me to Gryffindor tower, where I'm currently laying in bed, or at least an image of me is. As long as I'm back before dawn, everything will be fine. And even if I sleep in, Ron will cover for me."

"And your little friends have no problems knowing you spend the night in the dungeons?"

Smiling softly, Harry looked up, "They know I'm spending the night with you. They trust my judgement like they've trusted me all summer. If I remember correctly, you were the only one doubting me."

Busying himself with crisp vegetables and a tender chicken breast, Snape did not look up. Yes, he had doubted Harry's, or more Lord Voldemort's intentions. But there was nothing to be done. He had aligned himself with the 'Boy who Lived' and had to see this decision through. Until now, everything had worked out in his favour. Maybe, for the first time in his life, luck would be on his side. "When is the Dark Lord expecting your report?"

Swallowing a massive bite of potatoes, the young man brushed away that question. "As soon as I sleep. We agreed to get in contact every other night, so we're both up to date. He'll schedule meetings during the week that aren't important. When I'm supposed to attend, they will be Friday or on the weekends. I expect you to give me detention if I need to get away."

"A sensible solution."

For a few minutes, they both enjoyed their dinner. Then Severus dared to ask, "Are you feeling comfortable with Lord Voldemort walking in and out of your mind at will?" He hoped that did not sound too doubting, but someone having permanent access to his brains … the thought alone made him shudder.

Fortunately, the teenager did not seem bothered. "Our occlumency lessons enabled me to seal the Horcrux away. They helped with shutting Tom out as well. I'm not an expert, and he doesn't like me keeping to myself, but he knows that I won't allow unmitigated intrusion at all times."

"Not a fun conversation, I expect."

Chuckling, Harry shrugged, "We were more or less shouting at each other for four days. But if we want to work together, Tom has to learn that I'm not his tool."

Cautiously, the spy pondered, "Still, you trust him."

"With my life."

No doubt. No hesitation. It would have to be enough.

"I'll have to …," Severus interrupted himself. "I already finished my lesson plans for the year."

"Oh, yes," licking his fingers until the Potion Master threw a napkin at his head, Harry reached for his bookbag. Pulling out a slim, manila folder, he sat it on Severus desk and tapped it with his wand. It grew about three inches. "Hermione told me to keep this, that you would want to go over it tonight, before sending it in tomorrow. After breakfast, she, Ron and I will stand at attention in the Potion's classroom. If we work together, we will have all ingredients ready for the first class on Monday before teatime."

Right, he had prepared as much as possible in advance. Crates with ingredients were to be delivered at his command. They had worried about the preparations contradicting their story, but classes had to start, and getting everything ready at the last minute, was stressful enough. They had all agreed that the headmaster would not allow Severus any leniency. So why risk a confrontation when they could have everything set up in time. It would be a long day. There was only one problem, "Do you think that you and Ron will be any help? In the past, you have not exactly been shining examples of potion students." Was that taking it a step too far? Yet the good-natured ribbing felt natural. He was comforted when Harry laughed out loud.

"That's why we will keep Hermione in our heads at all time. It will be good exercise anyway. So, win-win. Wouldn't you say?"

He would, but never admit it.

* * *


	15. September & October 1995

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are slowly approaching a new follower. Harry is still torn between 'doing something nice' and 'looking out for his own advantage'. I have to admit that I really had fun writing his descend into Voldemort's mindset.  
>  I'm slipping along canon for a few scenes. This fic is set during Harry's Hogwarts years, after all. Enjoy.
> 
> * * *

"Can I kill the toad?"

"That would be bad manners, Harry," Hermione scolded absent-minded dabbing dittany over his wounded hand.

"Tom will go ballistic when you tell him." Ron was pacing the Room of Requirement that had manifested as a common room of sorts, as soon as they had entered after Harry's detention. "And before you tell me that you can get through this on your own, think! We all know that your Dark Lord has a possessive streak a mile wide when it comes to you, and he certainly has spies in place that will tell him what's going on."

"Why would he spy on me?" Harry asked, confused.

Shaking his head, his friend chuckled, "Not on you, but on things in general. And he knows you nearly as good as we do. No way would he think you would _not_ mouth off to Umbridge as soon as he learns about her."

"I did not 'mouth off'. I merely asked a question regarding the chapter we were reading."

"You made her look stupid in front of the entire class."

Harry grinned at Hermione's remark. That had been kind of the point. But while the others had been amused, some even rising to the occasion, Umbridge had singled him out and given him detention. He was not looking forward to justifying his behaviour before Severus or Tom.

Harry did not even have time to compose a letter. The dream started as soon as he closed his eyes that night.

* * *

Salazar Slytherin's library was part of the Chamber of Secrets. Tom remembered it quite well, so they had chosen those surroundings for their nightly conferences.

"And what exactly have you expected to gain from mouthing off to that ministry lackey?" The Dark Lord inquired, forcefully calming himself as he inspected the markings on Harry's hand.

He could have vanished or 'concealed' them. This was all 'make-belief' after all. But if Harry expected honesty and trust, he had to give it. So, he displayed his wound, no matter how unimportant he considered it.

Amused, Teenage-Tom replied in his stead. "He wanted to undermine Umbridge by proving her incompetence."

"The ministry sent her," Tom forced out behind clenched teeth. "Competence was never a criterion. She's Fudge's lap-dog, promoting his agenda and report back to him when anything happens."

Pacing the room, furiously, Harry demanded to know, "How am I to pass my OWLs when I have no competent teacher?"

Grinning, young-Tom challenged, "When have you ever had a competent teacher for Defence against the Dark Arts?"

"Lupin!"

With a tilt of his head, the other assented.

"You will simply have to teach yourself. There is the Hogwarts library. This library and I am sure your Potion Master will help you if you ask."

"And what about the others?"

"Find a way!"

* * *

"You want what, Hermione?"

"For us to teach the other students Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"Are you crazy?"

"Debatable," Ron piped up, evading the book Hermione tried to slap him with. "But think about it, Harry. Your name carries weight. We can teach them more than just defence. A study group could be our way in to reach larger groups of students."

Throwing up his hands, Harry wanted to know, "Who would let himself be instructed by a fifteen-year-old?"

With a shake of her head, Hermione reminded him, "If the fifteen-year-old is 'Harry Potter', I think just about everybody."

"I hate you."

* * *

"I understand that you have started a little 'club'?" Severus did not look up from his markings. The school was in full swing, and he could not afford to slack in his duties, either to his students or his new master. Though Harry was far more lenient than Voldemort had ever been, he wanted to be available when the teenager needed him. That meant staying up to date with his other responsibilities.

"Not you too," The teenager rolled his eyes, groaning over another foot on his essay about the spell effects of Protego versus Bombarda. A complete waste of time, in his opinion, as they had been taught neither spell in class.

Pressing his lips together, the professor did not elaborate.

After a few minutes, Harry put down his quill and challenged. "Alright, let's have it. I take it you disapprove?"

Debating with himself, if he should share his honest opinion, Severus startled, when he felt a nudge on his chin. He had not even heard the young man approaching his desk. That kind of neglect would have cost him his hide with Voldemort. But Harry was different. With the young man, he was letting his guard down. Harry felt … safe.

"If you are concerned, Severus, tell me."

Three nights a week, and still, the older man craved their little 'get-togethers'. He had been conditioned to appreciate his master's touch. He wondered if he should hate himself for it. Looking into concerned, green eyes, he dared to ask, "Are you teaching or recruiting?"

With a smile that reminded him uncomfortably of the Dark Lord, Harry caressed his cheek and whispered, "Why 'or'?"

* * *

'He's distracted.'

'I noticed, but I don't know why.'

'Could it be one of his Slytherins?'

The trio watched the Potion Master explain the dangers of Calming Draughts. How the user could become addicted it was brewed wrong, and why they - especially the fifth and seventh years - should not self-medicate. Since it was OWL year, Severus had little hope that his words were heeded, but the potion was part of his curriculum. The 'golden' trio observed while going through their preparations. No matter if they were paired with each other or with other students, the boys usually let Hermione take the lead, so their potions came out perfect every time. That gave Ron and Harry time to watch the other students and - more importantly - their professor.

'Have you asked him?' Hermione wanted to know.

'He said he is fine and since he can't lie to me …'

Cutting up the roots precisely, Ron pondered, 'If he doesn't lie and is still concerned, it must be someone else. Since you're unharmed, it has to be someone he cares about.'

'And since he cares only about his Slytherins, it has to be one of them.'

The trio finished the current step, and while Harry counted the clockwise stirs, Ron and Hermione looked around.

'Draco looks quite sour, and Blaise hasn't slept in a week, from the looks of it.' Hermione noticed. 'Crabbe and Goyle look confused, but that's pretty standard.'

'Pansy is talking Draco's ear off,' Ron snickered. 'I would look unwell too if that girl would not shut up.'

'Blaise looked radiant after the weekend.' Harry recalled. 'I was wondering if he had started any make-up charms. His skin was positively glowing.'

Finishing the last stirs, Harry tapped the cauldron with his wand. "All set."

'Let's keep an eye on him.' Ron decided.

However, the target of Severus' concern became apparent when the dark-skinned Slytherin swayed over his cauldron, and the Potion Master had to cast a shielding charm, before sending the boy to the dorms. When he passed them by, Harry used the chance to brush his hand over the Potion Master's. The man flinched nearly imperceptibly before growling, "Stay behind, Mr. Potter!"

Half an hour later, Ron and Hermione briefly touched Harry's shoulder before leaving the classroom. The moment the door had closed behind them, Snape was upon Harry, hissing mad. "How dare you accost me in _my_ classroom? You had no right to invade my privacy!"

Not even rising from his seat, the young man stated, "I think you forget who you are talking to."

Rearing back, the Potion Master paled. Had he really forgotten? In this room, his mindset was that of a teacher, not of a servant. Voldemort would have strung him up for less. The audacity to start on one's master … The professor stabilised himself on his desk, nails scratching over the surface, his back to the young man. Deep breathes. He could do this.

"Come here, Severus."

The tone was soft but no less authoritative for it. The professor approached his master; eyes on the floor. "I apologise." He forced himself not to retreat when Harry reached out and covered his mark with a firm hand. "The day I gave you this, what did I tell you?"

"That I was yours. That you protect what's yours."

Nudging up the Potion Master's chin, the young man wanted to know, "Don't you think that means that I care? If you are worried, I want to ease you. That's not limited to Tom's little games or Dumbledore's interference. If you have concerns, you will share them."

Severus was struggling for solid ground. Nothing was how it used to be, where his masters had ordered him, but had left him to fend for himself in his every-day life. Harry interfered. "I … this concerns one of my Slytherins. You would not be able to help."

"First, let me be the judge of that. And second, sometimes it helps just to talk. Don't you think you should try, before deciding it's useless?"

Harry sounded so much like his mother. He was still touching Severus. Closing his eyes for a heartbeat, savouring the contact, the Potion Master allowed himself the tiniest smile. "Detention, Mr. Potter. Tonight at seven."

Harry slipped off his seat with a smile. "As you wish, professor. Have a good afternoon."

* * *

"I need to know everything about incubi."

Tilting their heads for a moment, adult- and teenage-Tom gestured towards a tall black tome in the Slytherin library. "What do you want to know?"

Reaching for the book, hissing at the blurry words, Harry put it on the table. Apparently, neither Tom could recall it with perfect clarity. "I need to know if there is a way for an incubus to live in monogamy."

Shaking his head, the teenager put the volume back where it belonged, "Incubi are notorious promiscuous creatures. Their need for sexual energy pretty much negates any chance for monogamy."

Rubbing Harry's arms, because his Horcrux seemed rather tense, Tom wanted to know, "Has one of this sex-demons caught your or Severus' eye? Have you discovered that you are the jealous type?"

Sinking against his soulmate, Harry shook his head, drinking up the comfort of not knowing all the answers. "No, just, this particular incubus is the son of the 'Black Widow', and he hates what his mother does to her lovers, how she uses and kills them, even his father. He goes so far as to starve himself, and Severus is worried that he will either harm himself or kill a student when the hunger overwhelms him."

"An incubus would make a nice pet. They are pretty convincing. We could use that." Teenage-Tom pondered.

"I'm not going to keep Zabini as a pet!" Harry hissed.

"Why not?" The Dark Lord wanted to know. "If we can find a way for you to give him what he needs. Why should you not get anything in return? He could campion your ideas in Slytherin House. No force, just quid-pro-quo."

Harry mumbled something indistinguishable.

Teenage-Tom chuckled, as he lectured, "Quid pro quo means >this for that<. The phrase is used to signify an exchange of goods, services - or in our case - favours. Originally, Potion Masters used it when they had to substitute one potion or ingredient for another of similar effect. That was common practice when their patients were allergic or a certain ingredient was not available. Over time, the meaning of the phrase was expanded to include all types of exchanges. That brings us to the here and now."

"Tit for tat."

"Exactly."

"I still don't know if I feel comfortable with this."

Grinning, young Tom suggested, "Why don't you look up spells that concentrate energy and let your pet-to-be decide if they are worth the effort?"

"What spells?" Harry felt a little lost in translation at the moment and retreated to one of the armchairs.

The Dark Lord shared. "The green volume over there is written in parseltongue, so you will have to concentrate if you want to give it to your bibliophile witch. It might be easier for you to read it yourself. It explains energy conversion and concentration for rituals and such. An incubus survives on sexual energy. That's just another flavour of life-force. If you can adopt one of the spells, you might be able to feed your little incubus, without actually fucking him. You're at a boarding school after all. I'm sure there is energy to spare."

Why Harry might not want that, remained unaddressed. But Tom was right nevertheless, and they all knew it. Grumbling, Harry reminded them, "He's not _my_ incubus."

Grinning sharply, the two Toms traded a look, before replying in one voice, "Not yet."

* * *

A few days before Halloween, Harry was strolling down the corridors, catching up to Severus who departed from the headmaster's office. The man seemed deep in thought, but not overly angry, as had become a custom after spending any time with Dumbledore. Following the Potion Master, who appeared to have no destination in mind, merely wandering the castle, Harry spoke up after a few minutes, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Whipping around, wand at the ready, Snape snarled, "Potter, what the hell are you doing out of bed?"

Grinning, the young man pulled off his invisibility cloak. "Same as you, I would say. Thinking."

Gathering himself, the older wizard put away his wand and tilted his head. "I apologise."

"You're forgiven."

They wandered side by side for a while. At the top of the Astronomy Tower, Severus leaned against the railing. "I was never one for heights, contrary to you," he glared at the student who pulled neck-breaking stunts with his broomstick regularly, "but I always enjoyed this place. Especially at night. It's … peaceful."

'And a long way down,' Harry thought, wondering if he should be worried. "What has you so concerned tonight that you are looking for peace?"

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, as if facing a challenge, the Potion Master finally admitted, "Your godfather."

"Sirius?" They had not talked, these last few weeks. Of course, the man had inquired about Harry's health immediately after they had returned to Hogwarts. They even exchanged the occasional letter, but Harry was not desperate for a father figure any more. Someone to 'save' him from the Dursleys. He had Tom, and that was enough. Sirius had sunken on his list of priorities. "He's … he's seeing a ministry appointed mind-healer and … still living at Grimmauld Place?" He tried to scrape together what information he could recall.

"Yes, but I don't think …," the older wizard sighed again. "I can't believe I am telling you this. I can't even believe that I noticed, but I think Black is depressed."

"Why do you care?" Harry asked, surprised. The Marauders had been downright bastards to Severus. The teenager would have thought that the man to be … well, maybe not happy, but at least content to let a former enemy wallow in his misery.

"I don't!" The man snapped. Then he exhaled and occluded, sorting through his emotions before locking them away. When he was calmer, Severus explained, only a little snappish. "I could not care less about Sirius Black. But you do. He is your godfather after all, and with your bleeding heart, you would feel bad if you discovered that he was unhappy if you could do something about it."

Leaning against the railing, looking out into the cloudy night, Harry thought it over. "I think … you could be right. If something happened to Sirius, I would feel bad. But not as much as I would have last year."

"You don't care for him any longer?" A confusing thought. The man was one of Harry's few ties to his parents!

The young man found this hard to explain. Still, Severus was his advisor, someone he trusted implicitly. If Harry could not be honest with him, … But why did the idea of Sirius' suffering not make him instantly uncomfortable? Why was he not making plans to run off immediately to see if he could help? After a while, the teenager pondered. "I think I lean towards Tom's mindset in this. I care less about a person who has proven that he cared little about me in the past, even handed me over to a 'gamekeeper' instead of taking care of me after my parent's murder."

"Sirius Black was your parents' best friend. He would have hung the moon and the stars for you, the moment he held you for the first time!"

"How would you know?"

Aware that he had talked himself into a corner, Severus admitted reluctantly, "Minerva attended your christening. Something Lily insisted on. Black was … besotted with you! He did not put you down once during either the ceremony or the feast!"

Angrily, Harry stabbed a finger into his chest, "Then why did he not take care of me after mum and dad died? Why did he leave me to Hagrid of all people? Why did he go after Peter? Why was revenge more important to him than me?"

Slowly, Severus pulled the teenager against his chest. The young man started to tremble, angry and sad at the same time. After a few moments, he whispered, "No, it's alright. Severus is here."

"Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley?"

Harry nodded. After a while, the Potion Master admitted, "It's alright to hate someone … to hate someone and love them at the same time. People are just … people. With all their petty feelings and weaknesses. It does not make you a bad person for wanting him to prioritise you, nor for wanting to protect yourself from being hurt again by a rekindled relationship."

The shaking had ceased, but Harry still stayed in the boundary of his arms. After a while, he breathed, "You're talking about Lily."

Severus gave a shuddering breath before nodding. "I loved your mother, always have, always will, no matter what happened. But after apologising over and over for my slip of tongue and being cast out, I hated her."

"Like me being angry at Ron when he says something hurtful, but not loving him any less for it."

"Exactly. And I am not telling you that you must care for Black's well-being. The man's a damn adult. Just … I think he has little hope and does not know what to do with his life. Dumbledore and his Order invade Grimmauld Place every other week. The Weasleys waltz in and out, as they please. Molly acts as if the townhouse is their home instead of his. I think Black is missing … perspective."

"And I could give him some?"

"I think …" Severus pondered, only now forming a plan. "I think he could be an asset. The Black family has always leaned towards the Dark Arts. Sirius is no exception, no matter how little he likes it. He became a Gryffindor to distance himself from his ancestry, but that does not change his breeding."

"He could become a spy. Dumbledore would never suspect him."

"He once would have died for you. Maybe it is time for you to find out where his loyalties lie these days."

Finally pulling back, Severus tried very hard not to mourn the loss, Harry scrubbed his face and then smiled up at him. "Thank you for your advice."

Tilting his head, it never got old for the former Death Eater to be appreciated instead of punished. "Then let me advise you to return to your dormitory. It is far past curfew."

"And we would not want to force you to dock points from Gryffindor." The student grinned cheekily and hurried down the staircase.

Turning back towards the balcony, Severus looked up into the starless night. How much his life changed that he cared about Black's well-being all of a sudden. But then … he didn't, not really. He just cared about Harry.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Sirius will make an appearance in this story. As will Remus Lupin. But please, remember that Harry is not desperate for a parental figure, as he has Tom to help and guide him. So while he cares about the man a little, he's also angry at him (for obvious reasons). In fact, Harry's emotions regarding his godfather are pretty torn, as is his treatment of the man.


	16. mid-October - October 31st 1995

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things always happen on Halloween. Who am I to break with that tradition?  
> I know that many of you have mixed feelings about Sirius. Please be open about him. He's had a hard life and no chance to mature during his stint in Azkaban. Think of him as an emotionally constipated tween.
> 
> Also: Yes, Tom cares, at least about Harry. He and Harry are like weights, sitting on opposite sides of a scale. They start at the top and the bottom, but as this story develops, the scale evens out. And as always in life: Truly amazing things can only be achieved when everything is balanced ;).
> 
> * * *

"I'm afraid I can't allow you to leave Hogwarts, dear boy. Especially not after what happened last summer."

Kneading his hands, nervously, Harry looked up at the headmaster from under his lashes. "Please, Sir," he whispered. "It would just be Grimmauld Place. It's … after everything … I just … I can't be around to celebrate and make merry. I know that Halloween is a holiday, and people have every right to have fun, but … seeing their smiling faces, hearing their laughter, it's like … like slapping my parents in the face. They died on this very day, fifteen years ago, and I am supposed to be celebrating? After what happened at the graveyard … please, I just can't …!"

Sighing deeply, Dumbledore took in the picture of misery. "Alright, Harry. While I understand where you are coming from, I still have to insist that you don't go alone. A member of the faculty will have to accompany you. And the situation being as it is, it will have to be either Minerva or Severus. I'm sure you understand."

"But Snape," Harry growled, then swallowed down his anger. "Of course, Sir. I understand."

"Now go, dear boy. I will talk to them and get back to you tomorrow the latest."

"Thank you, Sir."

When he entered the library, fifteen minutes later, Ron offered a high-five and even Hermione looked rather pleased.

* * *

During Breakfast on the 31st, Snape towered over Harry from behind. "Mr. Potter, the headmaster just informed me that I will spend my day babysitting you and your insipid godfather. You will stand by the front gate within the hour; I will not waste my time waiting for you."

"Yes, Sir." Harry nodded, swallowing visibly. Neville reached out to put a comforting hand on his arm. "It will be alright, Harry. Sirius will appreciate you visiting him on … today." His fellow Gryffindor merely nodded.

Fifty minutes later, Harry watched Severus stalk towards him, his robes swishing behind him. He wondered if it was a charm or merely the cut of the fabric. The ones Tom had chosen for him last summer certainly didn't do that. "How did you get Dumbledore to send you instead of Professor McGonagall?"

"Minerva is an extremely busy woman, and for once the headmaster's habit of treating my like an errand boy pays off."

Following the Potion Master to the edge of the wards, the student reminded him, "You know that you can spend the day as you please, once we've reached Grimmauld Place."

"You do not wish for my company during your conversation with Black?"

"Honestly, I don't think Sirius would be open to suggestions as long as you are around. So, you can take the day off. How long do we have?"

Pleased with the prospect, Severus tilted his head, "The headmaster has made it clear that he expects us back at school after dinner."

"How generous." Harry sneered. "But then, food or my safety were rarely a concern for him."

The former Death Eater flinched. Harry's abominable childhood was partially his fault. Yet before he could sink into his accustomed pool of self-loathing, the young man reached out. "Voldemort killed them, and the Dursleys are bastards, for mistreating their nephew. Stop feeling responsible for something that's not your fault."

"Had I not told him …"

"Then he would have found another reason," his master interrupted. "Fate always gets its way. We are freeing us from Dumbledores manipulations. Don't let him win by believing that you are good for nothing but spying or errands. You are brilliant, Severus. You have a sharp mind. You are strong and skilled. We can't change the past, but we can work for a better future. For now, we are playing his game. But Tom and I are working on upending his board. I need you for that."

"I will be by your side for as long as you wish, master." The Potion Master promised. Tilting his head, Harry apparated to Grimmauld Place, Severus on his heels.

Talking to Sirius was like pulling teeth. Clearly, the mind-healer was doing a poor job. Maybe Harry should find another? Even at first glance, the teenager had been able to see why his advisor had been concerned. Sirius was still far too thin, seemed to have trouble sleeping and his personal hygiene left a lot to be desired. His old clothes hung on his frame like on a scarecrow. When asked about his days, the man merely shrugged. Being here, in this house where his dead mother was screaming from the walls, and Dumbledore could control every aspect of his life did him no favours. So, they had to get him out. Regrettably, Sirius did not seem open to suggestions. After four hours of useless discussions, Harry simply left the room. Immediately, the man came after him. His godson appeared to be the only thing he had even a slight interest in.

Bouncing down into the lab, Harry knocked, knowing too well that interrupting a Potion Master while brewing could end in disaster. He counted till seventy-five, Sirius was already fidgeting, before the door opened. "We're going out. We'll be back for dinner."

Looking up, Severus wanted to know, "Do you wish me to prepare something. I doubt that Kreacher's cooking will be to your liking."

"Oh, honey, you don't have to," Harry grinned and blinked his eyes until Severus shoved him out.

"See if I ever offer to cook for you again, brat."

The young wizard merely squeezed the Potion Masters wrist, before bouncing back up the stairs.

Confused, Sirius followed. He snatched up the robe; Harry threw his way. "Put this on; we're going out."

"Dumbledore told me that it would be preferable for me to stay indoors. I might have been pardoned, but the general public still considers me a danger. I was in prison, after all."

The teenager worked very hard on not knocking his head against the wall. "Your choice. Do you want to join me, or not?" He needed the big guns, and Harry had lost all scruple around hour three.

Sighing tiredly, Sirius put on the winter-robe and the scarf, a green and black monstrosity that seemed to be at least twenty years old. ‘RAB', was stitched into the corner. Harry didn't mention it. "Where are we going?" The teenager, however, was beyond wasting his breath. He merely reached for the other's wrist and whisked them away.

"You can apparate?" Sirius asked in awe, as soon as he found his centre after landing. He grinned, and a part of the Marauder's charm seeped through the cracks. At least until he realised where they were, immediately, he stepped back. "No … I … I can't be here … I …"

But Harry merely grabbed the scruff of his neck and pulled him along. "Oh, no, this is long overdue!" Had Sirius done the bare minimum, namely eating properly, and keeping at least a basic workout regime, the teenager would have never, ever had a chance to drag him along. As it were, the older wizard could offer little resistance, when his godson pulled him into the graveyard. He spotted Nagini under some bushes and looked around. There was a figure, but it stood unmoving, watching, waiting. Strange enough, that gave Harry the strength, to do what was needed. Dragging his godfather to the gravestone of his parents, he pushed the man towards it. Choking, the other wailed, sinking to his knees before the headstone, "This is all my fault!"

"No!" Harry insisted, "Also, whose fault this was, is completely beside the point. Tell me, Sirius, when you were eleven and came into a Gryffindor dormitory, a descendant from a dark family in the lion's den, what did my dad tell you?"

Sniffing, the man recalled, "He told me that with my complexion, red and gold was doing a lot more for me than green and silver. Then he asked me if I knew any good hexes, being a Black and all."

"And when mum properly met you for the first time?"

Chuckling wetly, his godfather shared, "I had just tried to demonstrate a tripping jinx, when her shield bounced it back at me, making me face-plant in the middle of the common room. She merely looked down at me, and said, ‘For someone who has been using magic all his life, you are slow, Black'. Of course, I considered this a challenge."

"Did you ever get her?"

"Not once," Sirius smiled. "Your mother was amazing with charms and shields. I know people have already told you so. But I have never met a faster caster than her. Her knowledge of what her opponent was about to do was instinctive. She always had the right counter at hand. Professor Flitwick tried to get her into duelling, but she always said that she had no interest in fighting." He tapered off. "Maybe … maybe if we had been more insistent, maybe she could have done more than just … just dying."

"Was she not happy with her life before … everything?"

The man shook his head. "Your mum worked in research. She worked full time at Potter Manor until she had you. She had the most amazing laboratory there. More often than not, the charms she developed would sell well. Lily even got paid now and then to charm certain objects. She planned on getting a mastery. She got pregnant with you and still planned on finishing in spring 81'. Her Charm's Master was amazing and adapted to her schedule, though that's nearly unheard of. Every company in the United Kingdom offered her a position; even a few in Europe. But Lily knew that your dad was attached to his family. So she declined and worked from home. She wanted to charm household appliances and luggage so they could work in the muggle world, without interfering with the elektrizicity."

"Electricity."

"Yes, that."

"You enjoyed being around?"

"Of course," Sirius smiled. For the first time, Harry got a glimpse of who the man could be if he ever let go of the despair Azkaban had instilled in him. "Once we came together, after … mum threw me out and … James … I loved her. Not like James, just … I loved her so much, and now …" Silent tears filled his eyes. Harry, however, was not through with his interrogation.

"Do you think she loved you too?"

"Yes," the wizard whispered, brushing the headstone with his fingertips. "She always made sure to have my favourite cereal in stock. To this day, not even Kreacher knows what I like. She prepared a room at the manor, just for me, hung my favourite posters and all. Once you were born, she even put a crib in there, because she knew that I enjoyed having you close when I was around. She gave me my first bag with an undetectable extendable charm. It failed after a few months, but that way, I could take everything I cared about with me; the day my mother … when I left."

"What about dad?"

"James was … he was my brother, not in blood but in every way that counted."

Smiling like a rattle-snake, Harry went for the kill, "And you like this, right here, right now, is what they would have wanted? For you to live in a place, you hate. To spend your days looking at faded wallpapers, steering in self-loathing. To talk to a mind-healer who clearly does a poor job. After everything you have just told me, I sincerely doubt that James Potter and Lily Evans would ever have wanted that kind of life for you."

Curling into himself, Sirius admitted, "No." Then he started to cry. Contrary to Harry's expectations, he did not heave in huge, ugly sobs, but had quiet tears streaming down his eyes, much like the young man himself, when he had despaired at Privet Drive.

The teenager pulled back because he did not know how to deal with this kind of grief. Harry wanted his godfather to be better, to become a potential asset, but this … this was too much. The pain Sirius was feeling, the knowledge that he had disappointed his two best friends, to know they were gone. It was like looking into a future where Ron and Hermione were not with him any longer. A strong arm around his chest pulled him back against a warm body. Half hidden in the shadows, Tom was a pillar to draw strength from. _*I am sorry.*_

_*Me too.*_

_*You did not think this would affect you as much.*_

_*No, I didn't. This could be me. Somehow, that's worse than the idea of dying by your hand.*_

Tom promised, kissing the back of his equal's head, _*We won't let something like this happen to you. Azkaban is far from impenetrable, and I swear that we will do everything in our powers to keep your friends safe.*_

For a few heartbeats, Harry turned and let himself to be held. He took comfort like a child from his parent after a nightmare. When he pulled back, he didn't look up. _*Thank you.*_

_*You're welcome, my Horcrux, now go back to your godfather. I think he needs a guiding hand.*_

When the Dark Lord had nearly retreated into the shadows, Harry wanted to know, _*Why were you here, Tom?*_

 _*I don't know,*_ the wizard admitted with a shrug and a half-smile. _*I had a feeling.*_

"Fate has a way of getting what it wants."

"Yes, now go. Black is waiting."

Sirius was kneeling before the headstone. His face was still wet, but no new tears were coming. Harry put a hand on his shoulder. "I think it's time for you to take your life back, Sirius. I might not need a godfather, but I could do with a friend."

The other wizard flinched. ‘Good,' a small, vindictive part of Harry thought. ‘Keep him in the defence. It will make it easier to get our way.' It did not even sound like Tom.

* * *

Before their return to Hogwarts, Harry visited Gringotts. In the Black portfolio, they found a house in a small town in Wales that would suit Sirius better than Grimmauld Place. Afterwards, they ordered a wardrobe that suited his slimmer frame and was suitable for a Lord Black. Finally, Harry talked to Andromeda Tonks, or more, let Sirius speak with her. His godfather seriously needed a competent mind-healer. On his own, he would never get better.

All in all, a successful day, or so the teenager thought. The next time they saw each other, Harry could start planting doubts about Dumbledore's methods and remind Sirius who had cast the Fidelius Charm that had been supposed to protect his family. For now, the man was far too unstable to be of any use. In a few weeks … months more likely, he could become an asset.

A good day, indeed. Now, Harry was about to capture himself a little incubus. Best Halloween ever!

* * *

Hermione had practically drooled over the parsel-spells Harry had helped her translate.

Ron was happy that he did not have to interrupt his Halloween feast for their plan to work. Sometimes his priorities were those of a teenager. Go figure.

And Harry … Harry had a pretty fantastic view from the top of the Astronomy Tower. The Marauder's map was a godsend. For weeks now, they had used it to track Blaise Zabini's every move. Ron had studied the pattern of when, where and who. About the _how_ they had remained blessedly oblivious. Hermione had helped him perfect the spell that could concentrate and enhance residual sexual energy. It had been quite a revelation how much energy filling Hogwart's corridors. Harry had noticed that Blaise visited the Astronomy tower at least once every other week. Sometimes every week. Sometimes two times a week, depending on how 'hungry' he was. Until now the Slytherin had always retreated to the dungeons at night. But after ten days of starvation, Harry felt that the 'grace period' was over. Severus had thought so too but had been at a loss of how to help. There were no potions to satisfy a sex demon.

So, Harry lay stretched out on a red and white chequered blanket, sipping butterbeer, while waiting for Zabini and his latest conquest. After nearly two weeks, he was not even sure, if one victim would do more than easing the hunger pains the incubus had to suffer. But that would not be a problem if everything went according to plan.

"What …?" She was … a Hufflepuff, maybe? Yes, Hufflepuff, yellow and black scarf.

"Picknick?" Harry made an inviting gesture over the spread that sat under warming charms. "There's certainly enough for three."

"I'm not …," the girl turned towards the Slytherin. "Sorry, Blaise. I know you have a great reputation, but this is not the kind of surprise I'm in for." Aaand she was gone. Good for her.

Zabini seemed to debate with himself if he should chase her, but thought better of it. Instead, he growled. "What the hell are you playing at, Potter? Isn't it enough that you and your little band of misfits watch me like a hawk? Now you start messing with my private life?"

"She wouldn't have been enough to sustain you anyway."

Flinching as if slapped, the dark-skinned teenager whispered, "What are you talking about?"

"You've not eaten in nearly two weeks. Do you honestly think one little Hufflepuff – as lovely as she might be – would have sated you?"

Deflecting, the other contradicted, "I eat in the hall every day. Just ask the other Slytherins."

Stretching to get more comfortable, thank Merlin for cushioning and warming charms, Harry grinned, "And still you look as if you've spent a month in Azkaban. Tell me, Zabini. Is it food you're hungering for?"

The incubus watched him, the curve of the neck, Harry displayed so enticingly, the lean body and the strong legs that had been shaped by hours upon hours on a broom. The teenager licked his lips. Hoarsely he inquired, "Are you offering, Potter?" Slowly he sank to his knees and crawled around the blanket. When he was but a hairs width away from Harry's lips, the other teenager fisted his hair and held him at a distance. "You will never, ever touch me, without my permission! Are we clear, Zabini?"

The incubus fought the iron grip, breathing out, "I'll make it good for you. It will be a night you'll never forget."

"My last, most likely," Harry snickered, not letting go. "Maybe I'll risk it if you make it worth my while. Show me what you have to offer!"

Zabini seemed to like that because he licked his chapped lips and pulled back. Provocatively, he opened his robes, waistcoat, and dress shirt. He did have a nice body, no doubt about that. When he unlaced his trousers, he sat back on his haunches. What a pretty picture.

"Go on," The teenager encouraged. "Let me see you in all your glory."

Being an incubus seemed to lower your inhibitions because the dark-skinned boy set to work immediately. He was weak, and so was his erection; not that it mattered. It was all about intent. "What a lovely picture you make. I wonder how you would look on your back, with my cock up your arse. Your legs would look so pretty wrapped around me when I fuck your hungry hole." The incubus groaned and closed his eyes, working himself up, getting more excited by the minute. "You would like that, wouldn't you? Tell me, little snake, what do you want?"

As expected, Zabini started babbling almost immediately, giving Harry time to cast, without being noticed. It was a heady feeling to summon life-force-slash-sexual-energy, but even better to see it fuel the sex demon. The dark-skinned boy, who had looked gaunt and grey only minutes before started to swell. His cheeks filled out, his hair started to shine healthy again, his eyes became near feverish the longer Harry was casting. His entire body began to glow at the influx of magic. He made a picture every sculptor would drool over. When Zabini spilled over his own hand, he screamed rather fetchingly before toppling over. Despite his resolutions not to touch, Harry pulled the boy into his lap, where he was shaking as his body worked through the power boost. A quick swish of Harry's wand had the mess disappear. With a few additional gestures, Zabini was mostly clothed once more. The other teenager was clawing at his arms, pulling himself closer to Harry, curling into him like a little snake, seeking warmth. He was starved for affection because sex and affection was not the same thing, Harry realised. An exciting thought, as it gave them an edge. Despite the incubus' nature, their touches were not sexual. When Zabini's stomach began to growl, Harry offered food. The boy was either too out of it or enjoyed being hand-fed. He barely acted, just gently took everything that was offered, lips brushing over fingertips to clean them. Harry suspected the first, as Zabini's eyes were still mostly closed. After half an hour, the frantic energy seemed to ease. When his hunger was satisfied, the Slytherin curled up, like a baby snake in the nest and fell asleep.

'Could you please send Severus to the Astronomy Tower? I can't exactly leave Zabini here, nor get him to the dungeons.'

Snickering, Ron replied, 'It's not as if we don't know where they are.'

'Still, better not to take chances. I'll tell the professor.' Hermione assured him.

'Thanks, guys.'

* * *


	17. November 1st - mid-November 1995

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, here's the thing: to some, Severus reactions/emotions might seem very much out of character and I am the first to admit that they are. However, please remember how much time and effort Harry put into this. After all these years, Harry is the first person to treat the man kindly. To talk to him, spend time with him, show interest, basically, make him feel special. Here's the outcome.  
>  Harry is not a particularly good person in this story. His father-figure can be ruthless and cruel, seeing nothing wrong with torturing people when they disappoint him. His hindbrain (the Horcrux) eggs him on, he's cold and detached and only out for his own gain. Harry Potter (a genuinely nice guy at the beginning, despite all of the abuse the Dursely's heaped on him) tries to balance it all. He realised that being 'good' or 'nice' won't get him anywhere. Severus is kind of trapped in the middle of this tug-o-war, without a chance to escape.
> 
> * * *

After the feeding, Zabini acted as if on a sugar high, smiling a lot, even giggling on occasion. 'Stoned' Hermione called it. Then he became quiet and withdrawn. His spiralling mood could be attributed to his head of house, seemingly having it out for him. Even in potions, the Slytherin got reprimanded for the smallest infractions. Harry tried to talk to Severus, but the professor refused to give him detention. When the Gryffindor noticed a disaster about to happen, he threw a beetle-root into a fellow student's cauldron, making Neville's concoction evaporate in a puff of violet smoke.

"Detention!" The Potion Master snapped automatically. "This is your O.W.L. year, all students will either succeed or fail on their own. I will not allow anyone to tamper with someone else's brew. No matter if the tempering is harm- or helpful. Is that understood, Mr. … Potter?" Only at the end of his speech did the man realise who he had criticised so angrily. Still, he drew himself up to full height and glared.

"Yes, professor," Harry replied calmly, holding his gaze.

"Class dismissed!"

* * *

For the rest of the day, Severus was running circles in his head. He should not have allowed himself to get carried away. But what Pot… Harry had done could have been disastrous. Of course, it had kept Longbottom's cauldron from blowing up, since that idiot boy had left his concoction on the burner for too long but … never mind. He had to find a way to get through tonight's detention. Then he could work on his insufficient occlumency shields. For decades, he had trained himself not to feel. It had served him well in Voldemort's service. The ability to stay detached had been necessary for his sanity. Now, in Harry's service, he was lost. And he did not know what to do about it. Emotions … entirely unwanted pushed to the surface, and there seemed to be no way to get rid of them.

When the teenager entered, he claimed a place in front of the fire. Crossing his legs, presenting a mirror image of the Dark Lord, Harry studied his Potion Master, before he demanded, "Talk to me, Severus."

"There is nothing to talk about."

With a sigh, his master commanded, "Come here."

As was expected, he obeyed. Opening his palms, Harry repeated, "You will either talk to me or take my hands. The choice is yours. But I won't allow you to go on like this. I can feel your irritation."

"This is none of your concern," Severus snapped and turned away, but seeker's reflexes, allowed Harry to capture his wrist. The Potion Master fought with desperate strength, Harry, however, followed his retreat easily. A small gasp revealed that Severus' secret was out. Frantically, he tugged on his hand. He wanted to leave and hide, even though there was nowhere to hide from this.

He expected reprimand, disgust, after all, he was …

He had not expected laughter. Maybe he should have. He was pathetic after all. But it was not a cruel or demeaning sound, as he would have expected from a Marauder … more breathless and disbelieving. Finally, his wrist was released, but before he could distance himself, warm hands touched his arms, turning him around. The sweet smell of treacle tart brushed over his face as Harry's pulled him close with gentle hands. Softly the teenager whispered, "You're my first, Severus. My first follower, my first advisor. Do you think I would leave it at that?"

This was … confusing. "You've been feeding an incubus …"

His cheeks were caressed; a trembling he had not even noticed, eased.

He did not know how to react.

"What you saw was the extend of our contact. I told Zabini that he was not to touch me without permission. The spell I cast did not need my sexual relief, only his. He helped himself, so to speak." Affectionately, the young man smiled. "There is no reason for you to be jealous, my Severus. Certainly not of one of your baby-snakes."

"I don't … this is not … you're a student." Severus tried to remind himself. Once again trying to step back from the teenager who looked at him with such kind eyes. He should be grateful. This man had given him hope, a future, a home. Harry had treated him as something valuable. His insights and his thoughts were appreciated … even liked. The teenager had amused him with little anecdotes, had allowed Severus to share his everyday life. He had brought interesting herbs Briar had grown, that could be of interest to a Potion Master. One time, a book from the Peverell library had found it's way to the side-table in the cottage's livingroom. He had not slept that night, too fascinated by potions developed several hundred years ago. The days, Harry and he had spent on the back porch of his new home, … Severus had enjoyed every hour. For the first time, he had had something to look forward to, when retiring for the night. His life today was so much better than it had been months prior. And still, he wanted more. How dare he?

"I have no interest in Blaise Zabini, at least no physical interest. But I have to admit that a kiss sounds enticing. Maybe you could 'advise' me on a suitable candidate?"

He couldn't. Severus couldn't _not_ take this chance. It was wrong, on so many levels. This young man was his student, his master, his charge, his best friend's son. Still, for this one moment, Severus cared about none of that, as he claimed the boy's first kiss.

They lay entangled on the sofa an hour later, slightly out of breath, but honestly content. "That was … educational," Harry grinned, rubbing his forehead against Severus' chest like a lion marking his territory. "But I don't think I have grasped the full concept and all intricacies. Maybe we should repeat it."

Fighting his way up, surprised when the teenager let him go, Severus fled to his cabinet and poured himself a generous helping of scotch. Minerva might be repetitive in her choice of Christmas presents, but her offerings were always top shelf. Allowing the burning in his throat to clear his head, the Potion Master shook his head. "We can't."

"Because you don't want to, or because you think it's inappropriate? And please don't make me force this answer out of you."

After another gulp, the older wizard turned around. He closed his eyes against the alluring picture. Hair messed up. Lips swollen. There were two red spots high on Harry's cheeks. Severus thought that the young man had never looked lovelier. Still, he shook his head. "You are but a teenager, Harry. You have your entire life ahead of you. Especially now that the Dark Lord is no longer out for your blood. You will find someone your age, someone better suited for you. I am your professor, and I am your advisor. So, let me advise you: go and find someone to learn about love and everything that comes with it. No matter how little I like it, even Blaise Zabini would be a better choice than me, since you have found a way to satiate him, without endangering yourself."

"I understand." The teenager did not sound angry, more amused-slash-resigned. He rose and stepped close. Severus wanted to pull back, to hide from the inevitable pain. He was not good enough for Harry Potter. Giving in to the illusion that he could have this young man would only lead to heartache. It was unfair to the boy and himself. He was not prepared for the gentle hand and even soft lips that touched his cheeks. "I am young, I know. And you are my professor, that is true. But times and circumstances will change. I will become legal and gain my N.E.W.T.s. We'll continue this conversation then. Have a good night, Severus. See you tomorrow at breakfast."

Even after the door had fallen shut, Severus stood frozen beside his liquor cabinet. What had just happened? Had the young man, after discovering his feelings, promised to wait for him? That did not make sense because Severus was … Severus. Who would ever think him worth it?

Confused, he downed the last of his drink and then hid in his bedroom.

* * *

Harry could feel Severus' confusion but was too delighted to let himself be bothered.

'Mate, you're bouncing around in my head. Tone it down!'

'We kissed! Extensively!' He could not help but grin. Well, it was late, anyway, nearly curfew. Nobody would see.

'Zabini?' Ron asked scandalised.

'Ron, sometimes you have the empathy-range of a teaspoon. Harry is obviously talking about Professor Snape!'

'Your very own snake.' He could feel Ron's happiness for him, despite the gentle ribbing. 'I wonder if Tom's going to be jealous. First Severus and soon Zabini. Soon you can start a pen.'

Ever sensible, their friend lectured, 'Most Death Eaters are from Slytherin. Tom's followers still surpass Harry's in number and power.'

'But not in loyalty,' Harry reminded them. 'Love and kindness get you farther than fear and pain.'

'Well, if everything goes as expected, you'll soon prove that.'

'That's the plan.'

When he climbed in through the portrait hole, Ron and Hermione offered bright, triumphant grins; sharing his joy and he loved them for it. He wondered how this conversation would have gone without their connection. Ron had been so jealous last year, but now … now he could just reveal his convictions and emotions without having to worry that his best friend would misunderstand. Sharing his delight was about the best feeling in the world! Well … right after kissing Severus Snape, of course.

* * *

After coming down from his high', Zabini started to observe Harry. He did not acknowledge the three lions, but neither could he keep his eyes off them. For now, he kept his distance.

One feeding would hardly be enough. Since the 'psychological' approach had obviously worked perfectly with Severus, the trio decided to keep at it. During their classes, Ron sometimes singled Zabini out. Hermione nudged him towards Harry, and the young parsel-mage used every chance to touch the Slytherin. He steadied the boy when he 'accidentally' tripped over a root. He held him back when he wasn't attentive enough in Care of Magical Creatures or simply brushed over his back when passing him. They spaced it out, never crowding the Italian, or even speaking to him beyond a few comments in class. However, over the next two weeks, the young snake started to drift towards them. For an incubus, Zabini seemed uncommonly starved for affection. Every time he got close, entirely on accident, of course, Harry 'rewarded' him with an absent-minded caress, before turning back to what he was doing. They made sure nobody noticed.

In the middle of November, the incubus' energy started to wane. He still did not look as bad as before, but apparently, the lack of sex was getting to him. Ever since their meeting at the Astronomy tower, Zabini had refrained from entertaining lovers. He had, however, started to 'court' Harry as aggressively as he could, without giving himself away to the entire school. Little treats, funny notes, all the menial trinkets teenagers favoured. Severus had observed stoically. He had kept his distance, during their 'detentions'. Yet, he had stopped to single Zabini out. Harry considered it a win. However, the professor still ran interference when his snake tried to get to Harry alone. The teenager was unsure if the man was jealous or tried to save one boy from the other. Not that it mattered.

"Can I talk to you, Potter?" Zabini caught up with them, outside of the great hall.

As one, the three lions turned, "Yes, Zabini?"

"Alone, if you two don't mind!" He glared at Ron and Hermione.

With a wicked grin, Harry told him, "We were about to have lunch. If you have something to say, you might as well join us. I have no secrets from Ron and Hermione." Then Harry turned away, seemingly uncaring of the Slytherin following.

The boy, however, remained outside. He clenched his fists, trembling from … something.

"You can't keep this up indefinitely, Harry. Sooner or later, you'll have to feed him, not to put other students at risk."

Picking up some mutton chops with green beans, he shrugged, "I will, but not yet."

Grinning, Ron agreed, "He has to learn who holds the cards, Hermione. He's a Slytherin. He'll figure it out."

* * *

That night, when Harry shared his experiences with Blaise Zabini, the Dark Lord wanted to know what 'stoned' was. Grinning Harry described the dopey grin and the elevated mood Zabini had displayed for days after his feeding.

"Sounds like you've overloaded him," teenager-Tom pondered. "Maybe you should tone it down."

"But that will mean he'll starve sooner."

"Indeed," the other teenager confirmed with a content smirk.

"How do I do that?"

Irritated older-Tom demanded to know, "How can you not know how to regulate the amount of energy you put into a spell? Don't they teach you anything in that ruddy school, anymore?"

Confused, Harry looked at the Horcrux, who explained. "It's a matter of energy conversion. You only have to put as much power into a spell as to see the effect. More will just slip away, not make the spell stronger. Summonings are different, as is elemental magic. The more magic you use, the stronger the effect."

When the younger student still seemed confused, the Dark Lord ordered, "Get Severus to bring you to Malfoy Manor. I wanted to talk to Lucius anyway. It might be an advantage if you accompany me."

"Do you want to introduce me?"

"Not beyond what I've said during the first meeting."

Grinning, Harry concluded, "So you just want to appear with a shadow by your side and terrify them when we speak in parseltongue."

"Yes. Afterwards, I will teach you properly, spellcasting. Something I obviously have neglected until now."

* * *

"Malfoy Manor?"

"Yes."

"Is Lord … is the Dark Lord displeased with Lucius?"

"He didn't mention anything. But we talked mostly about spellcasting last night."

Massaging the bridge of his nose, the Severus sighed. "We will need to find a reason for you to leave school."

"We could tell Professor McGonagall that you're taking me to an optometrist, to discuss eye-correcting potions." He still wore his 'decoy' glasses.

Tilting his head, the wizard agreed, "That would work."

* * *

When they wandered towards the gate, on Sunday, Severus stated, "I will stay by your side, at all times."

"Won't that give my identity away? There are not many young men you are interested in." Harry wiggled his eyebrows.

Forcing down a blush, the professor lectured, "Nobody but a selected few know that my allegiance is no longer to the Dark Lord. My attendance will be justified."

"So that you seem interested in older men?"

It needed Severus' entire composure, not to snap. It would only prove his young master's point. It was not as if he could hide his feelings, anyway.

* * *

Harry was already wearing mask and robe when he and Severus stepped out of the floo in the Manor's drawing-room. Severus had chosen the outfit Harry had gifted him. He had pretended not to see the content smile of his master. Lord Voldemort was watching the beautiful garden. "You may leave, Severus. I will return with Harry once his lessons are finished."

"No."

Turning around slowly, the Dark Lord merely looked at him, challenging his former servant to contradict him to his face.

Knowing where this might go, but considering it worth it, Severus lowered his head. "With all due respect, Milord, as long as my master is here, so am I."

Tom turned towards Harry, smiling sharply, "And you are fine with your advisor playing servant for me?"

"You will behave yourself," the teenager stated calmly.

"Will I …," the Dark Lord pondered, before turning towards the door. "We will see."

Severus had to swallow, as he followed in the older wizard's shadow. Maybe this was not the best idea. But then, leaving Harry alone with the Malfoys was not an option.

* * *

The entire morning was tedious. Tom was playing his mind-games, including Severus just to torment him. But since he kept his wand to himself, Harry wasn't bothered. He suppressed a yawn while listening to Lucius pompous speech of the influence he had garnered at the Ministry and wondered what Narcissa was thinking. The woman seemed like a wax statue.

After two hours, Harry finally gave in. In a modified voice, thanks to the mask, he interrupted the ostentatious pureblood, "All this seemingly important connections, and still, nothing can tidy over the fact that you carelessly gave away your Lord's most valuable possession."

"How dare you interrupt me," the Lord Malfoy hissed, trying to retaliate, but his smart wife, put a resolute hand on his cane and kept him from drawing his wand.

Having walked the room, during the pureblood's discourse, mostly to keep himself entertained, but also to unsettle Lucius, Tom lazily pulled his wand and stated near tenderly, "Crucio." All the while keeping his eyes locked with Harry's.

The white-haired male was convulsing on the floor within the minute. Still, the two soulmates remained lost in each other. Narcissa's quiet plea, "My Lord, have mercy," had Voldemort let go of the spell.

Lucius lay trembling on the floor. Only with Narcissa's help was he able to reclaim his chair. The sharp scent of urine filled the room when the man finally managed to relax despite his tremors. Silkily, the Dark Lord approached his 'most loyal' follower, mock-lovingly caressing his head. "Be grateful for my indulgence of your wife. There are wizards with half your blood, who have suffered the torture curse twice as long without embarrassing themselves. You would do good to remember that this wizard," he gestured towards Harry who still sat observing, "claims a throne by my side. If not, the next time your humiliation will not be so private. Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes, my Lord." The Malfoy patriarch's voice was hoarse and weak. Harry found that he did not particularly care. Ginny had suffered so much her first year. Lucius deserved every bit of pain. Still, Severus was Lucius' friend. At least as far as he had gleaned from his Position Master's thoughts. Inconspicuously, he reached back, and equally coveted; his advisor offered his hand. 'Leave a nerve tonic if you wish.'

'Thank you.' He could hear the gratitude in Severus' mind. He did not care for Malfoy, but on Severus' behalf, he may ask Tom to tone it down. Well, it remained to be seen if the pureblood had learned his place. If not … well, a Slytherin who could not read a situation had to learn the hard way, didn't he?

"I hope you will be able to offer more than empty platitudes, the next time we see each other, Lucius. Until then, Narcissa, it was a pleasure, as always." Indicating the smallest bow, when acknowledging the Lady Malfoy, Voldemort turned towards the door. This time, Harry followed, with Severus on his heels.

* * *

At Peverell Hall, Severus excused himself to see to his house and workshop. Harry smiled. _This_ Slytherin was apt at reading a situation.

Once they have settled in the sun-room, with Merope and Lily fussing over them, the young lion wanted to know. "Who were you talking about?"

"Severus, of course. Nothing would have humiliated Lucius more than comparing his lack of composure to a half-blood, _he_ introduced to me in the first place."

"You've tortured Severus in the past? I thought you believed him loyal?" Offering the plate of finger-sandwiches in exchange for a cup of tea, Harry watched his soulmate.

"Severus was my Potion Master. He's the youngest Potion Master in history. With that title came a lot of expectations. He was punished if he couldn't succeed in a given task. That's called incentive!"

Sipping his tea, the younger wizard contradicted, "That's bullshit, but fine. I won't criticise your methods on how you discipline your followers as long as you leave mine alone." {Harry has never called his friends 'followers' before. Slip of tongue 😊}

When he noticed the viper's grin on Tom's face, at this slip of the tongue, Harry growled, "Shut up!"

"At least you get on with the plan," The Dark Lord chuckled. "Anyway, we're not here to talk semantics. Let's start the lesson. The theory behind it isn't easy, but I have faith that, with my help, you will have the concept down before you have to return to Hogwarts tonight. Do you have plans for the evening?"

This time it was Harry's turn to grin. "Oh, yes, capturing myself a snake."

Approving whole-heartedly, Tom put down his dishes and invited Harry to join him to the training-room, "Then let us begin."

* * *


	18. mid-November – mid-December 1995

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you ever feel like you deserve a medal for making it through the week without stabbing someone? So for all of you who have not put a fork into places where they don't belong, here is another chapter. And for those who did, if they were meant to ;).  
> Have a great weekend.
> 
> * * *

After dinner, Harry sent Ron and Hermione ahead. Of course, the incubus took the chance to catch him alone.

Reaching for his fellow student's wrist, Zabini started, "Potter, you …"

The Gryffindor's sharp smile made the Slytherin pause. "We have talked about you touching me without my consent, haven't we, Zabini?"

Shuddering due to the small amount of energy Harry pushed into him, the incubus slowly released him before closing his eyes in defeat. "What do you want, Potter?"

"Walk with me." Together they made their way up to the seventh floor.

Hermione joined them on the fourth; Ron caught up on the sixth.

'Are you sure that this is a good idea?'

'He hasn't signed the parchment. Nobody can keep him from betraying our secret.'

Smiling, Harry assured his friends, 'He wouldn't dare. Not tonight. Zabini's starving. He won't risk provoking me before I've fed him.'

"What are we doing here, Potter?" The Slytherin asked defensively as the three lions walked him down the seventh-floor corridor.

Grinning over his shoulder, the 'boy who lived' shared, "Learning defence. Or do you consider Umbridge a particularly worthwhile teacher?"

When the four students entered, every move in the Room of Requirement came to a screeching halt.

Seamus Finnigan was the first who spoke, "What is the snake doing here?"

Harry informed his classmates calmly, "Zabini is struggling with the Reductor curse. I thought he could tag along tonight."

Ever the sensible, Padme cautioned, "But Harry, what if he tells … her!?"

Glancing over his shoulder, meeting Zabini's eyes, who was clearly lost but too much of a Slytherin to show it, the leader of the DA assured them, "Zabini wouldn't betray us to Umbridge. I trust him."

That vote of confidence seemed to pull the snake out of his stupor. He straightened and stepped up to Harry, "Of course I wouldn't. If the pink toad can't find out about this little club by herself, she's not worthy of being a teacher here."

With an inviting smile, Harry nodded before pulling his wand. "Alright, where do you want to start tonight?"

'I am not convinced,' Ron shared when they straightened up after the meeting.

'He did good,' Hermione pondered. 'He even helped Luna with a charm. Didn't mock her once!'

When they left the room, Zabini was leaning against the opposite wall. "Message received, Potter. I'll champion your little club. How long do I have?"

"How long do you think you'll need?" Yet before the Slytherin could answer, the trio turned away. "Have a good night, Zabini. See you in Potions tomorrow."

* * *

When the four students entered, every move in the Room of Requirement came to a screeching halt.

Seamus Finnigan was the first who spoke, "What is the snake doing here?"

Harry informed his classmates calmly, "Zabini is struggling with the Reductor curse. I thought he could tag along tonight."

Ever the sensible, Padme cautioned, "But Harry, what if he tells … her!?"

Glancing over his shoulder, meeting Zabini's eyes, who was clearly lost but too much of a Slytherin to show it, the leader of the DA assured them, "Zabini wouldn't betray us to Umbridge. I trust him."

That vote of confidence seemed to pull the snake out of his stupor. He straightened and stepped up to Harry, "Of course I wouldn't. If the pink toad can't find out about this little club by herself, she's not worthy of being a teacher here."

With an inviting smile, Harry nodded before pulling his wand. "Alright, where do you want to start tonight?"

'I am not convinced,' Ron shared when they straightened up after the meeting.

'He did good,' Hermione pondered. 'He even helped Luna with a charm. Didn't mock her once!'

When they left the room, Zabini was leaning against the opposite wall. "Message received, Potter. I'll champion your little club. How long do I have?"

"How long do you think you'll need?" Yet before the Slytherin could answer, the trio turned away. "Have a good night, Zabini. See you in Potions tomorrow."

* * *

After the last lesson, Severus didn't notice when a student lingered. Yet he straightened, when he heard his master's order, "You will give both Zabini and me detention on Friday. Have us scrub cauldrons or assign an essay; I don't care. Any pretence of the two of us together will work. I will feed him, and then he can sleep his high off while I spend the evening."

Swallowing slowly, the Potion Master tilted his head. "Understood."

"Severus?" This voice, deceptively soft, carried authority and power. Sometimes it was hard to see that Harry and Voldemort had become equals. Not so tonight.

When he turned around, the wizard had lowered his eyes respectfully. Harry, however, did not give him the chance of withdrawal. Warm fingers tilted up his head until he met dispassionate eyes. "You will watch!"

He did not flinch at the command. He was better than that. Still, he was sure that his master could feel the hurt when he replied evenly, "Of course."

* * *

It was not a private meeting. This was his master commanding him. Severus could not argue, and he certainly could not circumvent it even if the thought of seeing Harry with someone else tore his heart. He had ordered the two teenagers to remove the sludge from a couple of first-year cauldrons before retreating to his office. Enchanting the door transparent from the inside, the professor summoned his fire whiskey and settled to watch the proceedings. Harry would not monitor him tonight. The teenager was confident that his orders were obeyed. Severus would never stand for anything less.

Completely ignoring the incubus, Harry started on the first cauldron. Physical labour had never bothered him, and it certainly was more bearable now that he had enough food to stay healthy and appropriate cleaning supplies to get the job done. They managed two cauldrons each before Zabini admitted, "I have put out my feelers. I think a few Slytherins could be interested, but … these things take time, Potter. You don't want anyone with questionable morals or divided loyalties. That would be dangerous for you and your friends."

"Aren't you, my friend as well?"

"I …," the other boy was licking his lips. They were chapped as if he had repeated this nervous gesture a hundred times these last few days. His complexion had retaken a greyish tint, and his appetite was waning, despite Harry's little boost on Monday. Confused, he finished, "I don't know. Am I?"

With a soft smile, Harry reached out and caressed the other's cheek. The incubus immediately closed his eyes and leaned into the gesture like a snake who sought her master's warm hands. "Am I not treating you right? Am I not caring and compassionate? Have I not fed you when you were starving and watching out for you when the situation called for it?"

"I … yes?" The teenager replied, inching closer to the lion, who stood before the sink.

"Come on, _*little snake*_ ," Harry hissed, retreating to one of the available chairs. As expected, Zabini followed, folding to his knees in front of him. He was rewarded with the scratching of his head. "You have not sought out alternative food sources. Why is that?"

"Because I hate it," the incubus whispered, pressing his head against Harry's knee. He was rewarded with more affection. "The touching; the empty emotions; being used. I have garnered this reputation, and I need it to survive. But … but that does not mean that I enjoy meaningless sex. You're the only one I have ever met who has not taken advantage."

'If only you knew,' the Dark Lord's equal smirked, glancing at the door, where he knew Severus was watching. He made no move to touch Zabini beyond petting his head.

"You never … you've fed my demon, but you didn't blackmail me or outed me. You're … kind." Devotedly the incubus looked up, admitting with bated breath, "I like kind."

Starring into the demon's eyes, Harry swore solemnly, "I will never take sexual advantage of you. I am in a committed relationship, Zabini."

"Blaise."

Smiling, the lion caressed the dark boy's cheek. "Harry. I'll feed you, no questions asked. And you will find a way to make it worth my while."

"Quid pro quo."

"Exactly."

"Will you … will you continue to touch me, even when I find a way to repay you?" The teenager inquired almost anxiously.

"Would you like that?"

"Yes!"

"Then that's how it will be." Harry chuckled. "But you should be aware of the rumours it might start. Best case scenario, you'll enter a harem with my two best friends and me."

Cheekily testing the other, the teenager reached out to slowly trail his hands over the inside seam of Harry's pants, whispering breathily, "There are far more 'worst-case scenario's than that."

Harsh fingers pulled back his head, and green eyes glared down at him, "Don't test me! You won't like the outcome."

Grinning, the Slytherin challenged, "You won't let me starve. You said so."

"I won't," the lion pulled back the head until it had to be painful, but the teenager did not relent. "But I can make this incredibly uncomfortable for you. Do you want that?"

"Maybe?"

Pushing the other away, Harry crossed his legs, looking down at the boy. It took Severus' breath away of how much he looked like Voldemort at that moment. "Begin."

As expected, the other teenager immediately shed his clothes. He whispered, tried to entice Harry, made promises and put on a good show, at least from the Potion Master's point of view, though he could only see the lean boy's back. Despite his earlier admittance that he had no interest in 'empty' sexual contacts, Zabini's movements were sinuous, sensual even, an invitation to touch, to take. Harry seemed entirely unimpressed. While the teenager had to be convinced that the young lion was watching him, the Gryffindor only starred at the door, seeking Severus eyes, despite having no chance to see them, since the transparency spell was one-way. When the young incubus was worked up enough, the parsel-mage started to whisper his transfer-spell, and with a shout, the young Slytherin came all over his hands and upper body before breaking down. Within moments, the Head of House entered the room. A quick check proved that Blaise was alright; his magic was just all over the place. His master had crouched down beside him, pulling the boy into his lap, easing him, "It's okay, _*little snake*_ , everything's fine."

The Slytherin's eyes were glassy, and he was grinning dopily, hugging Harry's waist, burying his face in the other teenager's stomach. With little effort, Severus helped the students to his livingroom. Harry claimed the edge of the sofa, with Zabini stretched out beside him. Not once did the Slytherin ease his vice-grip on Harry's waist. Absent, minded, the Gryffindor petted his head while nodding at his advisor to speak.

"You did not even look at him."

Harry shrugged, "Why should I? I am not interested in Blaise Zabini."

Closing his eyes, the older wizard sank back into his desk-chair. "That's why you wanted me to watch."

Studying him for a moment, Harry reckoned, "You thought me cruel."

Swallowing once, Severus tilted his head. "I apologise."

"No need." Harry eased. "Given your track record, I understand the assumption. But I said the day I marked you that you are mine now, and I protect my friends."

"But we are not friends."

Smiling, the other replied as before, "No, we are infinitely more."

* * *

When Harry re-joined his friends the next day at breakfast, Ron chuckled, "Interesting date-night, Harry?"

"Something like that," the young man grinned, briefly glancing towards the Slytherin table where Zabini was absent. Not surprising, since he had left the incubus in his Head of House's office. The other Gryffindors immediately picked up on the topic, and within minutes, the rumours were flying. As expected.

'So, you spent the night with Severus?' Hermione wanted to know.

'On his couch, with Blaise wrapped around me like a baby snake.'

Ron shuddered, 'I so did not need that image.'

'Tough luck,' Harry grinned, nudging his friend.

"So, I take it your date was successful?" Hermione concluded their spoken conversation.

Grinning, Harry confirmed, "I think we were both very … satisfied."

* * *

Harry let one day pass, and then he joined Blaise in the library, where he was studying with his fellow Slytherins. Brushing briefly over the boy's neck, something that instantly perked him up, Harry smiled before claiming the seat by his side, unrolling a parchment to finish his Charm's essay. The other snakes gaped.

Draco was the first to find his voice, "What are you doing here, Potter?"

Not looking up, he replied, "Knitting a scarf."

"What colours?" Goyle asked, confused, clearly not getting it.

Chuckling, Harry looked at the other Slytherins, "Red and Green."

Snickering under his breath, Blaise advised, "Close your mouth, Draco. It's not a good look on you."

"But …" The blond protested. However, since Ron and Hermione joined them, the others didn't dare to oppose. After all, five Slytherins and three lions at the same table. No hexes were flying, and no bloodshed was happening. The speculators soon turned back to their homework. It didn't help that the three Gryffindors moved in perfect synch, unsettling everyone. Harry's occasional brush over Blaise's arm or thigh was the only exception. When the trio rose as one, indicating a bow, Hermione spoke for them, "It was a pleasure, Ladies and Gentlemen. See you at dinner."

Then they left.

On their way back to the common room, they ducked into an empty classroom and closed the door firmly, before Ron couldn't keep himself any longer, and started laughing tears. "Did you see them? Did you see them? By Merlin, I thought Malfoy's eyes would pop right out of his head!"

Chuckling because of the infectious joy of their friend, Hermione added, "And Crabbe and Goyle, they were so not getting it. They looked like broken computers, you know, 'Does not compute.' Oh my god, that was so much fun!"

Mischievously, Harry promised, "We're _definitely_ doing that again."

Two days later, they joined Blaise for lunch at the Slytherin table. You could hear a pin drop until Blaise purred, brushing against Harry, "Hello there, gorgeous. So nice of you to join me."

That lunch was followed by educational decree number 23: During meals in the great hall, every student had to sit at their house table. The day after, the trio and a few Slytherins had lunch in the rose-garden's pavilion, under thick layers of warming charms. Apparently, even the Slytherins enjoyed a little rebellion now and then. Daphne Greengrass joined Blaise for their next DA meeting, signed contract and all.

* * *

Apart from toying with the Slytherins, the time until Christmas was rather dull. Harry was wrestling with his composure whenever he was in the same room as Umbridge. The toad put up decree after decree, not that it was of any use. Well, at least the twins were having fun, conjuring a swamp in one of the frequently used corridors and making an overall menace of themselves. Though Severus would never admit it, Harry could sense his admiration for the twin's spell-work. Friday evenings, detention with Severus were the highlights of Harry's week, while Defence against the Dark Arts became an exercise in self-restraint. A restraint he could not always manage.

Wednesday, around nine, Harry trudged into the common-room and fell face-first into Hermione's lap. The witch seemed entirely unbothered, continued to read while she started petting Harry's head condescendingly. "There, there, Harry. It can't be that bad."

Wordlessly, the teenager lifted his bleeding hand. That had her snap at attention, rousing Ron out of his chess-match against a sixth year who had been foolish enough to bet him two gallons if he could win. With an absent-minded "Check-mate," the red-head came over just as Hermione hissed, "Accio Essence of Dittany!"

The entire common room gasped when Harry caught the bottle out of the air, without even lifting his head. Neville voiced their confusion, "How did you do that, Harry."

Fortunately, the teenager was hidden enough, so his flinch was not overly noticeable. He merely rolled onto his back and shrugged, "Seeker's reflexes," before handing the bottle over to Ron, who applied the drops after Hermione had whispered a cleansing spell.

When they were in bed that night, Hermione repeated the question, 'How did you know where the bottle was?'

Watching his canopy, pondering the same question, Harry replied, 'I'm honestly not sure. I could feel your magic tethering it, and Ron saw its path. With that knowledge, it was easy to catch it.'

'So, you can use our eyes, our magic to orient yourself.' Ron contemplated. 'You'll have to talk to your Dark Lord. He'll want to test that. It could give us an edge in a fight.'

'And otherwise,' Hermione gave food for thought. 'It means we can spread our research out, and every one of us can join the other's when one finds something of value.'

'Bookworm,' Harry and Ron thought simultaneous with a loving tease. They _never_ wanted to give her the impression that she was not absolutely perfect, just the way she was.

'Sloths,' She replied with a chuckle.

'Oh, yea,' Ron languished on his bed. 'What a perfect life, sleeping for 18 hours a day and then eating and looking for the perfect position for the next nap. If I ever become an animagus, I want to be a sloth!'

To that image, the trio fell asleep.

* * *

The next few feedings worked flawlessly. Blaise did not make any untoward advances, too happy with the Status Quo. Interestingly, Millicent Bulstrode joined the DA. The portly girl with the sharp tongue proved unexpectedly helpful when working with a few younger years that had joined them. Her criticism was concise and to the point, and she always offered practical advice. While finishing their arithmancy homework, Millicent revealed to Hermione that she wanted to work with children when she grew up. However, her parents had already signed a wedding contract with a French wizard from a prestigious family. Hermione saw no reason why she could not be married and work with children, especially after having her own grown to the kindergarten-stage. Something seemed to unclench in the hard witch after that, and she often sought out Hermione in the library. Not to talk, just for the company. Since Hermione was not a fan of conversation while working, the arrangement worked perfectly.

For the Yule holidays, the trio had not put down their names to stay at Hogwarts. Tom had made it clear that he expected to work with them and that they would attend the Yule ball at Malfoy Manor. Ron had moaned that he hated the Malfoys. Hermione had despaired that she did not have appropriate robes for a pureblood festivity. Harry had given in. He knew his soulmate well enough that they would not get out of this. No matter the resistance.

Blaise got more and more handsy the closer the departure date of the Hogwarts express came. More than once, Harry had rebuked him that he did not enjoy being pawed at. Yet, for once, the incubus did not listen. During the last DA meeting of the semester, the dark Slytherin even pressed a kiss to Harry's cheek after the boy had helped him with a complicated spell. As to not betray their relationship, the Gryffindor had suffered it with an indulgent smile, inwardly seething. Ron and Hermione had traded a concerned glance, but since Harry's occlumency shield remained air-tight, they did not intervene. Surprisingly, it was Luna who approached him. "Sometimes, a little pain now can prevent a bigger hurt in the future."

"Are you hurt, Luna?" Harry wanted to know, concerned that the bullying in Ravenclaw tower had picked up again, despite him making it clear that he expected the DA members to look out for each other.

"Not at the moment," the girl hummed absent-minded, conjuring a lily she then stuck to Harry's lapel. "He will like that. He was always partial to lilies. They have close to no properties in potions, but they are pretty. Don't you think?"

Smiling, the teenager confirmed, "Yes, I think lilies are beautiful. But if you're okay, who will get hurt?"

"Blaise, of course," She looked at him, all innocence and naivete, something Harry had learned to look past by now. "I like him, but he can't go on like this. If you get too angry, you could seriously harm him on accident."

"Blaise, you …" erecting a privacy ward, demonstrating an inconsequential wand-movement, the Dark Lord's equal inquired, "Do you want Blaise, Luna?"

She tilted her head in a so-so gesture. "He's yours, for now."

"I'm only feeding him, so he doesn't hurt other students."

"And you want him to follow you. An incubus would give you an edge."

Panicking, Harry reached out. 'Luna knows.'

Immediately, his two best friends snapped to attention, but the dreamy girl chuckled, "I won't intervene in your plans, Harry. Magic needs you, both of you. The headmaster should know better. If he's allowed to succeed, magic will fall. Muggles are dangerous when they get scared."

"So, you are willing to help me?"

"I want to help magic."

"And you want Blaise?" Harry suggested.

"I like Blaise," she smiled dreamily, glancing at the other boy. "He'll complete me. With him, I will be good."

Calculating, the teenager wanted to know, "If I give him to you, I'll still have to feed him. You won't be strong enough to sustain him on your own. He could harm you."

Conjuring a turquoise rose, using it to pin up her hair, Luna wanted to know, "And what do you want in return? I won't let you mark me."

"Advice?"

"Hm …" Luna seemed to get lost in thought as she left their privacy bubble. Harry stared after her.

'What was that?'

'No clue. But it's Luna. I think this conversation is far from over.'

'Harry!' Hermione called out in alarm, 'Seamus is …'

Boom!

When the ash had settled, and nobody had gotten hurt, a teasing group of Gryffindor's left the Room of Requirement until only the three lions and Luna remained.

"Hurt someone now, may spare him pain or worse in the future. You did it with Severus. He trusts you now. You'll need to do it with Blaise, or he'll never accept the boundaries of your relationship. You'll need it again before school is over. A blasting curse can break a spine. But a broken spine can heal. From behind the veil, there is no return."

Harry went cold all over but bowed respectfully. "Thank you, Luna. I'll keep your advice in mind."

'Do you think Luna is a seer,' Hermione pondered, looking after the girl.

'No,' Ron decided, 'Seers talk in riddles. They don't know their prophecies until they are repeated to them. Luna is … I think she's fae. She sees possibilities but can easily get lost in them. We should look out for her.'

'She won't take my mark,' Harry informed them. 'How can I look out for someone I have no connection to?'

Hermione slapped the back of his head for that stupid comment, "The old-fashioned way, of course. With your eyes and your magic!"

"Sorry," the teenager mumbled, brushing his head. "Tom's too strong at times. I easily get lost in his convictions."

"Work on that, mate," Ron advised, "You have a unique point of view. Don't let a teenage-Dark-Lord trap you in his outdated ideas. We're better than that. Especially together."

* * *


	19. December 15th – December 16th 1995

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you'll all get a little glimpse of Harry's mean side.  
> Enjoy
> 
> * * *

When Blaise kissed him after Care for Magical Creatures, Harry clamped down on his throat, hissing angrily, "Tonight in Professor Snape's quarters. I don't care how you explain your presence."

Purring, the Slytherin tried to rub himself against his 'boyfriend', "Snape? Kinky. I like it!"

Only Ron's hand on his shoulder kept him from cursing the incubus six ways to Sunday. Tomorrow they would depart for Peverell Hall. Harry wanted to get this out of the way. He had looked forward to the holidays, seeing Tom, spending more time with Severus. Now, this stupid incubus was ruining his mood!

"Easy, mate. Now is neither the time nor the place. You can get it all out of your system tonight."

"I will hurt him!" the teenager hissed viciously, and for once his friend did not protest.

"I know. Just keep it contained until then. Your Dark Lord is showing."

* * *

Despite his insistence, Hermione joined him in the dungeons. Once Snape opened the door, she insisted, "Give him a Calming Draught!"

"Excuse me?" The Potion Master couldn't help but bristle at the commanding tone.

Harry, protested angrily, "I do not need a Calming Draught."

Looking entirely unimpressed, the witch warned, "If you don't give him something now, you'll have to scrape your snake off the wall, in an hour, professor." Then she turned towards her best friend, "And if you don't drink it, Harry, so god help me, I will shove it down your throat myself!"

Since Hermione was in _that_ mood, Harry took the offered potion and downed it. Within a minute, he shuddered and scratched the back of his head, looking ashamed. "Sorry, Hermione."

"It's okay," she hugged him. "See you tomorrow."

Once the door had closed behind the young witch, Snape asked carefully, "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

Whipping around, Harry's hand snapped out for Severus'. Immediately their connection flared to life, and the scene from the afternoon unfolded. Severus had to clamp down on his jealously.

How dare that little snake …?

What gave him the right …?

As if Severus' anger had eased his own, the teenager reached out and caressed the other's cheek. For a heartbeat, the Potion Master closed his eyes and leaned into it. When he felt Harry step closer, he whispered, "Please, don't." If the young man kissed him now, he did not know if he could keep his distance.

The teenager merely touched their foreheads. "I won't," he breathed, "I promised you I wouldn't. I will never do something without your consent. I swear."

Severus was helpless to quell the impulse. He pulled Harry into his arms, breathing in the scent that was so unique to him. After a few heartbeats, he pulled back, "You are carrying a lily?"

Chuckling, Harry opened his robe and pulled out the flower Luna had given him during the last DA meeting. It had yet to wilt, and a small spheric charm around the head kept it in perfect condition. "Luna conjured it for me. She said it was pretty."

Brushing over the delicate petals, the Potion Master confirmed, "It is. Useless, but pretty."

"Well," the young man sighed, looking towards the Head of House's office. "Let's hope the 'pretty' thing in there has more use. Otherwise, he's not worth the effort."

"Harry, I know you are angry. But you should look at this from Mr. Zabini's point of view. He is entirely dependent on you. Until now, you have asked little in return. He just wanted to establish a rapport between you, where he could be sure that he is of equal value to you, as you are to him."

"By making advances, I have explicitly told him I do not want?" The teenager hissed.

"By using what he's best at: Seduction."

"So, you are not angry at him!"

"I am," Severus admitted. "and you very well know it. Still, I am advising you not to let go of a potential resource so easy and maybe think of a way to keep him tethered, beyond the feeding."

"Are you suggesting that I should mark him? The Zabinis stayed out of the last war, according to Tom."

The Potion Master confirmed, "They did, and I don't suggest that you make him fight for you. But his mother is a player on the international social stage and, as her son, he learned the art of manipulation on her knees. He has a lot to teach you."

"And you would tolerate him by my side."

Drawing back, the former Death Eater titled his head. "I have no say in who you mark. I will work with whomever you chose. But …" Shaking his head, he caressed the teenager's cheek. "You made me your advisor. You protect me. You even gave me a home. I can work with a little upstarting snake if that brings you an advantage. And Zabini loyal to you _would_ be an advantage."

"I'll think about it. Luna said that she wanted him."

"Luna Lovegood is a category of her own. Do you think it's either/or for the pair?"

Thinking back to their confusing conversation, Harry shook his head. "No, to be honest, I think she expects me to mark him. She seems prepared to work with that … or around that? She just told me that she wouldn't let me mark her."

Massaging the bridge of his nose, Severus made a dismissive gesture. "One problem after the other. For now, deal with your incubus. He's pacing my office, and I'm afraid in a few minutes, he'll have lost the last of his clothes. He has already removed his robes, his jacket and opened his dress-shirt."

"Enticing," Harry wiggled his eyebrows. "I'll follow you, Professor."

Blaise's eyebrows shot up when they entered, but within a heartbeat, he had regained his composure. "Two for one," he chuckled, "I like it."

Severus remained behind Harry's right shoulder; arms clasped behind his back. Harry glanced at the boy. Calmly, he stated, "I told you, that I would sustain you, Blaise. I told you that I would touch you without taking advantage. I also told you that I do not like being touched by you."

"You did," the incubus smiled. "But rules can change, and I can make it good for you. You'll enjoy yourself so much that you will want to come back again and again and again! I promise."

"Oh, I'm going to enjoy this." Harry smiled all teeth and no humour. For the first time, the Slytherin realised that he might have taken this a step too far. Seeking help with his Head of House, Blaise shivered when he noticed Snape's stoic expression. Maybe there was indeed more to Harry Potter and Severus Snape's relationship than even he had thought. He took half a step back, but Harry had already started chanting.

As first, the energy was like a ray of sunshine, warm and healing. The incubus' body soaked it up, smiling dopily, rubbing himself through his trousers. It was a lot and increased steadily, but only after the first orgasm, did the energy really start to fill him up, to travel through every part of his body. His core. His arms. His legs. His head. It was a heady feeling, and he revelled in it.

"So good …" he purred, slowly sinking to the floor. But contrary to experience, Harry did not stop. The warmth turned hot, burning. But he could prevail. He would not see Harry for nearly a month. He would need this boost. The burning turned smouldering. Blaise looked up, eyes glassy, filling with tears. Desperately he whispered, "Stop, Harry. It's … it's too much."

The Gryffindor, however, merely stepped closer, looking down at him, eyes hard and cold. His chant did not falter.

The energy started to scorch Blaise from the inside out. His veins filled with lava, travelled through his body, leaving no part untouched. He started sobbing, pleading for forgiveness from a man who had none. He held out, held out as long as he could because his pureblood upbringing would not allow for anything less. But in the end, he screamed. He screamed until he was hoarse and then some. Eventually, his world turned black.

For a few seconds, silence reigned in the office. Then Severus stated tonelessly, "I am grateful that Miss Granger forced the Calming Draught on you."

Looking down at the Slytherin dispassionately, Harry agreed. "Me too." Then he left for Severus' quarters.

New tears started to leak out of Mr. Zabini's eyes when his Head of House lifted him from the floor and carried him to his living room. Harry had conjured a narrow cot with railing on either side. After placing a few monitoring charms, Severus relaxed into the corner of the sofa. He took his time and watched his master, who was pacing the room. After a few minutes, he summoned two glasses and his fire-whiskey.

"Bribing me with alcohol, Professor?"

"You look like you need it."

Wordlessly, the student took the offered glass and sat. After a few minutes, the former Death Eater wanted to know, "What concerns you more, that you did it, or that you enjoyed it?"

"Hurting someone to get the point across is usually Tom's approach."

"It is," Severus admitted. "The carrot and the stick. You convey your expectations; you reward good behaviour; you offer punishment when they are not met."

Sinking back into the buttery soft leather, Harry mumbled, "Usually, I prefer the carrot."

Tilting his head, the other gave food for thought, "The carrot works better for those who've known the stick." People like you and me. Severus didn't say it, but both could hear it loud and clear. "Mr. Zabini, for all his pureblood upbringing, has known little hardship. Of course, nothing is ever easy for an Italian wizard of colour in the depth of Scotland. But Mr. Zabini's mother has taught him how to get his way. He is a true Slytherin, out for his advantage. He mistrusts arrangements where he cannot see every possible angle. Things you don't understand, you can't manipulate."

"Words Tom lives and died by."

"Only the Dark Lord?"

Chuckling, Harry admitted, "I have Hermione for all the things I don't understand."

"While I appreciate Miss Granger's studious nature, she is not your personal library. You should thrive for understanding on your own."

A whimpering from the corner made the pair lookup. "Am I a bad person for not regretting this?"

"Maybe," Severus admitted. He studied the young man, at the quiet question, "Are you afraid of me, because I've proven to be just as sadistic as Tom?"

This was important, the former Death Eater realised. So, he took his time to think about it. To think about all the things Harry had done and everything he could do in the future. Finally, he admitted, "No, but then … I've not been afraid of pain for a long time. There are worse things you could do than hurt me physically." Then, as if to prove his conviction, he opened his arms. Harry leaned in with little incentive. "I won't, Severus." The young man promised. "But I understand that you don't trust that. Not now. And that's okay. As it is, I'll have all the time in the world to prove it to you." The Potion Master did not reply, he merely hugged Harry tighter, before letting his arm sink around the young man's waist, picking up the journal he had started after dinner. Their evening past with no conversation but both slipped into a comfortable sleep after retreating to their respective beds.

* * *

The next morning, Harry stepped up to the bed where Blaise Zabini was opening his eyes. He was still in his pyjamas, and the bed had not transformed back to the couch yet. Severus was occupying the bathroom, leaving the two students to talk. The Slytherin's eyes were wide and fearful; his body still trembled from the power Harry had overloaded him with. Swallowing thickly, he breathed, "It won't happen again."

"I know," the Gryffindor replied easily. "You will join me for the Yule Holidays. Severus has removed your name from the list of those who stay at the castle."

Glancing at the door Severus was rummaging behind, Blaise only looked back at Harry, after it became clear that nobody would 'rescue' him. "I will," he gave in. Not that he had a choice.

"Good," offering a sharp smile, the teenager petted the incubus head, not caring when the other flinched back. "See you at breakfast."

* * *

While the headmaster had tried to insist that Harry stayed at Hogwarts to be 'safe', the teenager had claimed that he would spend the holidays at a safe-house Sirius had organised. Barty had helpfully implanted the memory, into the ex-convict's mind. Eventually, Harry wanted to introduce his godfather to his new allies. Still, since he was not entirely sure how firmly the man was in Dumbledore's pocket, he and Tom had agreed that that could wait until summer.

Still, Sirius provided them with an excellent alibi when the trio arrived at Kings Cross. Patiently they waited until everyone was gone, then used the Portkey Barty had given Sirius. Rhodes, Briar and Lily were waiting for the students in the entrance hall to welcome them and pick up their trunks. After the meet and greet with the bubbly elves, Hermione and Ron traded a knowing look with Harry, before retreating to their rooms on the second floor. That left Harry alone with his first advisor and a trembling Blaise Zabini, who half hid behind his Head of House.

"Did you give him the potion?"

"Of course."

Harry smiled sharply, "Excellent, in that case, be welcome to my home, Blaise. Walk with me. I will introduce you to your other host." Walking to the green salon, he inquired, "Do you wish to inspect your house before you join us for dinner, Severus?"

Calmly, his first advisor replied, "I have complete faith that Lily set everything up to my expectations." Translation: I wouldn't miss this for the world. Harry merely tilted his head, but Severus could feel his amusement. Somehow, around here, the connection between them came a lot more natural than at Hogwarts. As if the surroundings wouldn't allow for them to temper it down. Severus had to admit that he liked it. It felt closer.

When entering the room with the emerald green carpet and the warm, brown fixtures and furniture, Harry could not help but smile when seeing Tom, sitting regally in an armchair by the fire, reading the Prophet. It was such a mundane picture, yet so very fitting. Where else could the Dark Lord idle away an afternoon with a cup of tea and a newspaper if not in his own home. Watching his companion like a hawk, Harry introduced, "Tom, allow me to introduce you to Blaise Zabini, son of the Black Widow. Blaise, let me introduce you to my housemate, Lord Voldemort."

Tom took his time folding up his newspaper, inspecting the Slytherin, enough for all colour to drain out of Zabini's face. He rose, elegantly, and approached Harry for a hug and a kiss to the forehead. Keeping his arm around Harry's chest from behind, the other toying with his wand, he studied the teenager. "Harry's 'boyfriend', as rumour has it."

Blaise tried to retreat, but Severus kept him in place. Pleadingly, he looked at his fellow student. "I'm sorry," he whispered, "I won't do it again. I'll be good, I swear. Please, Harry, please, give me another chance. I'll do as you say. I'll promote your club. I'll spy for you in Slytherin. Everything you want, just … please!" He withered before red and green eyes, lowered his head as if waiting for the final blow.

With exaggerated intensity, Tom sighed. "Fine, you can keep him. But make sure he doesn't …"

"… pee on the carpet?" Harry chuckled. "He's a smart boy, Tom, not a puppy."

"That remains to be seen. Merope!"

"What can Merope do for the Lord?"

"This is Blaise Zabini, Harry's … boyfriend, for lack of a better term. Please assign him a suit on the second floor and make sure has everything he needs."

Pleased by the command, the elf with the dark napkin tunica gestured towards the door. "Please, follow me, Mr. Zabini-Sir. Merope will be showing you your room."

With a respectful bow, Severus decided, "With your permission, I will retreat until dinner."

Studying his former Potion Master, the Dark Lord nodded. "Do that, Severus. I … your work has been … acceptable."

Once the door had fallen shut, Harry chuckled. "Carrot!"

Tom opened a narrow door at the side with a sigh. They passed through the residential wing until they reached his office. "If you insist on throwing random vegetables into conversations, at least explain yourself. Or has Hogwarts rotten your brain?"

"You've just offered Severus a carrot. Usually, you're the one with the sticks."

Stiffly, the Dark Lord contradicted, "He has kept you safe and educated. I could be pleased with the addition of an incubus, if … and only if, he proves up to standard. That deserves to be acknowledged."

Noticing the body-language, Harry stepped back into Tom's arms once they had reached their designation. For a few minutes, neither said a word, merely revelled in being together. It had truly been too long. "I've missed you."

"And I you, _*my Horcrux*_."

Pulling the Dark Lord onto his couch, sitting down right beside him, Harry wanted to know, "So, how did you and Barty do these last few weeks on your own?"

" _That_ is none of your business, you nosy child!"

* * *


	20. December 16th – December 17th 1995

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a panicking incubus. Don't worry, Severus will be a good Head of House and help his little snake through this.  
>  I took a few liberties with the Wizarding Society. Please, just rolled with it. I wanted to explain that there could be valuable reasons for Harry to 'sponsor' Ron and Hermione, even in the eyes of pureblood society. Let's be honest, Harry's rather rich, so I thought he would definitely outfit his friends!
> 
> * * *

Blaise had pulled an armchair into the corner of his room, as far away from the door as possible. Hugging his knees, he looked out of the window and back to the door. To and fro, door, window, torn between his desire to flee and prepare himself for an all-out assault. It wasn't as if he was locked in. He had checked. Sneaking out and finding a fireplace connected to the floo should be possible. He had snatched some floo-power when leaving Snape's quarters. The little pouch was a comforting weight in his pocket. But then what? He had no idea where he was? Would the powder be enough to return to Hogwarts? And even then, what would happen when Potter returned? They had an arrangement. Would the other boy simply leave him be? A month … even a week ago, he would have thought so. But after today … not likely. He knew too much.

Blaise groaned and pressed his forehead to his knees. What has he gotten himself into? At first, the golden boy of Gryffindor had helped him, and that had seemed like a blessing. Even propagating his little club had barely taken an effort. But contrary to Blaise's expectations, he and Harry had not grown closer, despite everything he had to offer. The lion had shut him down again and again and again, seemingly content with his efforts in Slytherin house, despite only managing to convince two other year mates to join the DA.

In Blaise's experience, that was not enough. If he could not prove himself valuable, support could be cut off at any time. The Slytherin had not wanted that, hence his efforts to court Harry. To prove his worth, to entice; something he had learned at his mother's breast. But nothing had worked. Finally, in a last, desperate attempt, he had kissed Harry and had tuned up his powers to the nines, despite having barely anything left. But once more, the 'chosen one' had not reacted. As if he was immune to the incubus. Though that did happen on occasion, mostly with people who had no interest in a male companion, Blaise had felt that Harry was different. He could not enchant him because … why?

In the Potion Master's office, he had finally understood. He would never be able to seduce Harry. The teenager had already given his heart to another. That kept him safe. But Blaise had not heeded his mother's warning of giving up on lost causes. He had tried his best to seduce Snape along with Harry, and what had followed had been the worst pain he had ever experienced. Burning with excessive energy was even worse than starving. He had no idea how Harry had done it. An energy transfer without sex should have been impossible! But of course, the 'chosen one' had found a way. A way to not only feed Blaise's nature but to punish him at the same time. Resolutely the boy brushed away the tears that had started to roll down his cheeks when he recalled last night. He was not weak. He would not break down crying every time he remembered!

Still, it had driven the point home about how little chance he had when standing up to Harry Potter. If he didn't want to abandon this relationship and possibly Hogwarts and the United Kingdom altogether, he had to bend to the lion's will. His mother had gone to great lengths to enable him a place in the prestigious school. His father had been at Hogwarts. One of Blaise's first memories of the man was tales of the magical castle in the middle of Scotland. After his dad's death, his mother had given him his journals. His little eight-year-old self had devoured them. Needed them to feel close to the parent he had lost. From then on, he had been sure that Hogwarts was the right school for him. And now, to abandon it because of a mistake?

Potter was a good guy, kind even if you played by his rules. He hadn't and had been punished for it. Now, he had been … abducted? There had to be a lesson in all of this. Had the ‘Saviour' wanted to kill him, he would have just needed to keep up his chant a little longer. Blaise was sure his body would have exploded eventually. Instead, he had been brought here. The house was grand, beautiful even. The house-elf in the white napkin that had greeted them had seemed delighted to see the Potion Master, so it stood to reason that the witches and wizards who lived here were kind, at least to their servants. Then the three lions had arrived. The moment the Gryffindors had passed through the doors, a change had washed over them. They had stood straighter, moved more in sync, the strange behaviour that unsettled students at Hogwarts was even more prominent here. But somehow, it felt … natural. Severus had … his Head of House had deferred to the golden Gryffindor, and that too had felt natural. Blaise had been too scared to voice his confusion, and then …

"Lord Voldemort."

Blaise had been convinced that it would be the ultimate punishment. That the Dark Lord would aim his wand, and they would all die. Well, maybe except for Snape. He _had_ worked for the man before. But instead of sadistic cruelty, the wizard had hugged … hugged!!! Harry and had started bantering with him. None of this made sense! Then the Dark Lord had greeted Blaise and offered him a room and … and he would be expected to join them for dinner.

For the first time in his life, Blaise was not sure that he could rise to the occasion. His mother had thrummed into him never to show weakness. To always study his surroundings, to determine motives and learn how to use them to his advantage. But now … this was You-Know-Who! Someone who had tortured and killed countless wizards and muggles alike. Someone who had killed Harry's parents and the 'Saviour' had just returned his hug. As if their past didn't matter.

At a knock on his door, he shot up from his chair, clutching his wand. "Enter!"

He was honestly unsure if it was a good or a bad thing when Severus Snape appeared on his doorstep. The Potion Master seemed more relaxed here than he had ever been at Hogwarts. He wore midnight blue robes of outstanding quality. His hair was clean and shimmering. Yet his gaze was as stern as ever. "Mr. Zabini, I advise you to freshen up and change. We are expected in the dining room in twenty minutes."

Swiftly Blaise tore off his clothes and dashed into the bathroom for a quick shower. A few drying and styling charms later, he returned to his bedroom, where Snape stood beside his trunk, in deep conversation with the house-elf who had shown him his room. "… I am aware, but the Dark Lord will hardly consider student's robes suitable. Even if they bear the Slytherin Crest."

"Merope has an idea, Sir." Then the little elf snapped her fingers, and a set of dress-pants, shirt and west, along with the other necessities, jumped out of his trunk.

Dressing, Blaise licked his lips. "Sir, if you would allow me: what is going on?"

Folding his arms before his chest, the Potion Master studied his student as if pondering on how much to reveal, "You are given a chance, Mr. Zabini. A chance not many will get."

Thinking about that, Blaise offered, "A chance to prove myself to Lord Voldemort."

"No," the other wizard smiled softly. "The Dark Lord will go along with anything Harry Potter decides. He might try to change his mind if he disagrees, but the ultimate decision about your fate lies with your fellow student. If you are smart - as I know you are - you will watch, listen and learn and then provide what is expected of you. If you can do that, without playing games, Harry will take care of you. He will protect you."

"Is … did the Dark Lord put him under some kind of spell? Or … or did you? We all know the official story, that you were loyal to Dumbledore, that you were his spy, but …"

Chuckling darkly, Severus revealed his bare forearms. "It is not Voldemort's mark I carry."

"What …" They knew. Every Slytherin knew that Snape bore the Dark Mark! First-Years were told within on the eve of their arrival and in the same breath advised never to mention it. This … "This doesn't make sense."

Merope popped in the same moment, offering a cream-coloured robe that would make Blaise's skin glow.

"In this house, loyalties are chosen, not forced. So, choose wisely, Mr. Zabini. You won't get a second chance."

* * *

When following his Head of House, Blaise could not help but gape at Ron and Hermione. The Gryffindors wore short, elegant robes of deep charcoal - he; and a soft, warm brown - she. Both looked dashing and certainly a lot more stylish than he had ever seen them at school. Hermione had even twisted up her hair. It seemed so effortless and natural yet looked so good that Blaise wondered why they never wore such attire at Hogwarts. He only got the tail-end of their conversation before they spotted him.

"All I'm saying is that it's wrong. And I won't stand for it." Hermione snapped.

Ron merely rolled his eyes before addressing him, "Zabini, Sir, let's get going. I'm starving!"

"You're always starving, Ron," Hermione shook her head, then proceeded them along the hallway.

"What can I say? I'm a growing boy."

This was surreal, Blaise thought. Maybe he had gone mad yesterday? The pain had undoubtedly been enough. This theory seemed to be confirmed when the Gryffindor's entered a dining room, greeting the Dark Lord and Bartemius Crouch with a courteous bow before the witch started, "Sir, Barty, good to see you. Thank you for having us over for Yule. I would like to talk to you about the wardrobes!"

"Harry insisted on you accompanying him, as you very well know." The Dark Lord replied in a bored tone. "Don't flatter yourselves in assuming I want you here." Looking them up and down, he wanted to know, "What about the wardrobes? Bartemius did a passable job."

Claiming a seat by the Death Eater's side, Hermione started, "It is unseemly for you to buy us an entire wardrobe. I have clothes. We are here to support Harry, not to be treated as ‘dress up' dolls!" It seemed to bother her a lot since she gestured widely to emphasise her words.

Putting down his cutlery after the first few bites, the Dark Lord inspected the young witch. Blaise felt the need to hide behind Snape. Did Granger have a death-wish to talk to Voldemort like that?

Sneering, the Dark Lord shared, "Yes, I have seen the so-called ‘clothes' you chose to wear at Hogwarts. No self-respecting witch would ever allow herself to be seen in something like that. They barely fit your sleeves, and the front was already tight around your, …" He cleared his throat. "Mr. Weasley's wardrobe I won't even go into detail about. Sufficient to say, if you wish to stay here, you will adhere to proper standards."

As if praying for composure, Hermione took a deep breath. Then she forced out from behind clenched teeth, "I will not be held as a ‘kept woman'. If you were so unhappy with my attire, you could have said something. I would have bought robes that fit your _standards_."

It was evident that Voldemort did not believe a word of what Granger had just said. Blaise was still tense but started to relax a little when nobody was cursed. With an elaborate gesture, the Dark Lord informed the young witch, "These robes alone were fifty gallons each. Tell me, Miss Granger, how many could you have bought on your own? Let alone an entire wardrobe suitable for a person of your standing?"

Ron spat his drink over the table, turning red, " _Bloody hell!_ "

Chuckling, Harry raised his wand and vanished the mess. "Believe me, Ron, that's nothing. You should have seen him going all out on my wardrobe last summer."

Granger had paled at that price. She realised that her muggle families' income would never suffice. Still, she protested weakly, "It's still not right for you to pay for our clothes!"

"What makes you think that _I_ have paid for your clothes? That would be highly improper!"

"Then who …" The three teenagers exchanged confused looks.

Rolling his eyes, the Dark Lord picked his cutlery back up. His input for the conversation was about to end. "Harry, of course."

"Oh," the teenager in question perked up. "Good for me." He then beamed at his two best friends. "We should do an entire wardrobe overhaul!"

"But that's …" Hermione started, but this time Barty interrupted her.

"Actually, that is more than appropriate, considering your and Harry's relationship."

"Excuse me?"

Gesturing at the three lions, Bartemius shared, "This custom might have fallen out of favour a few hundred years ago, but it is still accepted. If a muggle-born witch or wizard prove themselves exceptionally skilled or powerful, it was common for a pureblood family to take them under their wing. They would teach pureblood traditions, provide wardrobe and lodging – if needed – in short, everything to keep that witch or wizard safe. In turn, the muggle-born would increase the family's reputations with her achievements."

"Why would they need to be kept safe?" Harry inquired.

"You remember the Salem witch burnings?" The Death Eater reminded him. "Just because the American town was famous for them does not mean that witches were safe everywhere else. At times being called a ‘witch' was akin to a death sentence."

"What about Ron? He's from a pureblood family himself. I can hardly justify championing him when he knows everything already."

Understanding where this was going, his best friend answered, "No, with me, it's the other way around: You were muggle raised, so – even though you are from an old family – you don't know enough about our traditions to make it on your own. I provide you with knowledge, and you provide me with something of equal value."

"Quid pro quo," Harry grinned.

Voldemort tilted his head. "It is uncommon to provide a payment as ‘mundane' as money. That indicates that your family has nothing else of value to give. However, since Mr. Weasley here is hardly interested in your family heirlooms, a wardrobe will have to do."

"Twilfitt and Tattings?"

"Naturally."

"Mate," Ron berated, throwing a wax grape, "stop grinning like that. You're positively creepy."

Sighing, as if all this were incredibly tedious, the Dark Lord berated, "Please refrain from throwing the decoration, Mr. Weasley. We are not at Hogwarts."

Grinning, Ron lowered his head, "Apologies, Sir."

The rest of the meal passed in pleasant conversation, mostly between Bartemius Crouch and Granger. Occasionally the Dark Lord or Harry added to it, but the atmosphere remained calm and relaxed. Only when Harry and Voldemort had left did Blaise realise how this dinner had felt: like family. He had no clue what to make of that.

* * *

"You are not enticed by your little incubus," Tom stated while relaxing in front of the fireplace of his office. Belladonna had provided hot chocolate with rum for him and Harry, a guilty pleasure he would never admit to, but here, with just his Horcrux, he could indulge.

Licking his lips after the first sip, the teenager shrugged. "I never was. I thought I just wasn't interested."

"The very magic of creatures like incubi and succubi _make_ you interested. The fact that you don't warrant further studies."

Leaning against the man's legs, luxuriating on the thick carpet, Harry shrugged. "Let's do that tomorrow. When will you have the tailors in?"

"Tomorrow at nine. The Yule Ball at Malfoy Manor is on the 21st. Your robes have to be perfect."

Looking up, the young man wanted to know, "Do you think it's smart for me to attend?"

Smiling, Tom messed up Harry's hair. "It's a masked ball. And I have already chosen your costumes."

* * *

"If you ever put me through something like that again, I will hex you. Repeatedly!" Hermione groaned, sliding boneless into a chair. The seamstress had just left, and while Harry and Ron had been quite easily measured and equipped – Ron had a surprisingly good understanding of what kind of robes and other attire would be needed – the witch had taken trice as long with Hermione.

They had talked about fabrics, colours, and cuts for more than two hours until the Dark Lord had come in and taken mercy on the three teenagers. With short, concise sentences, he had decided what was to be made. After that, the tailor had needed but little input from Hermione to round up her wardrobe. Rather than flowing dress-robes that resembled actual dresses, Hermione would go with a more military design that would leave her arms free and show off the beautifully embroidered dress-shirts she would get. After a few tries, they had all seen that she was not comfortable in long dresses and skirts.

Harry grinned and petted her head. "There, there, Hermione. It can't be that bad."

"Stop patronising me, Harry Potter."

"I would never," her friend grinned. "But I will tell you that I have seen a rather interesting book on counter-curses in the library. Maybe Lily would show it to you?"

Instantly perking up, Hermione was on her feet in an instant. "Lily?"

"What can Lily be doing for Miss Hermione?"

Smiling, the young witch leaned down, "Would you please show me the book on counter-curses in the library?"

"Certainly," the house-elf beamed. It was so rare that this witch asked for anything. Hence, all elves felt honoured to assist her whenever she asked for anything. "Please, be following me."

"Please, follow me," Harry corrected immediately.

"Please, follow me, Miss Hermione," Lily then corrected herself, colouring slightly when her master looked at her proudly.

"You know that we won't see her again for the rest of the day?" Ron inquired.

"Yep," Harry shrugged, "But Tom wants to experiment later. I doubt Hermione would approve."

"Experiment?"

"He wants to find out why I'm immune to Blaise's magic."

"Aaaaaand I'm out. See you at lunch." Ron rolled off the sofa, and hastily left the room.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know when I wrote an end-note the last time, but here it comes:  
> I wanted to point out that Tom and Harry have a relationship that's closer to father and son than that of partners. Voldemort felt comforted by Harry's proximity when he was but a homunculus. Harry craves someone genuinely liking him enough to   
> 'cuddle' with him. Tom probably would have stopped after being back to his old self, but for one, Harry tried to 'force' contact, and second, his 'influence' goes as far as giving Tom the subconscious desire to express his sympathy through touch. Like when he kissed Harry's forehead for the first time. He was literally stunned by that but didn't dislike it. They've been learning with each other how to maintain a healthy, affectionate relationship.  
> There are, however, limits and Harry tries to work around them. That's why he always chooses the floor in front of Tom whenever they sit together. The Dark Lord wouldn't feel comfortable with a teenager snuggling up with him. But having Harry on the floor makes it easier for him to accept touch.  
> I hope that makes sense and explains why Tom and Harry are all 'touchy-feely' without being in a romantic relationship.  
> Have a great weekend  
> Anchanee
> 
> * * *


	21. December 19th 1995

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you start please find a comfortable armchair, get yourself some hot chocolate and gather a very fluffy teddybear.  
>  Trust me, you'll need them.
> 
> I could apologise for the emotional rollercoaster your about to enter, but the truth is: I'm really proud of this chapter.
> 
> * * *

"Call for your demon-pet!"

"Blaise is not my … fine." Harry deflated and went to look for the Slytherin. When they returned to the sun-room, the Dark Lord commanded, "Seduce him." Then he claimed an armchair, wand at the ready.

Zabini flinched back as if he had been struck. "No!"

"Excuse me?" The older wizard merely raised an eyebrow. How dare this upstarting little boy to contradict him?

The Slytherin immediately caught up to the precarity of his situation. He licked his lips and gazed from Potter to the Dark Lord and back again. "I'm sorry … ahm … Milord, but Harry has made it very clear that he is not interested in me."

"And why should that matter? You are an incubus, are you not? _Make_ him interested." Angrily, Voldemort tipped his wand against his palm. Still, inwardly he was pleased that the demon-pet deferred to Harry, even when faced with his ire. Harry had trained him well.

"Tom …" His Horcrux stepped forward but was shut down instantly. Time to put the pet's deference to the test. "No! How dare you contradict me? I have wizards' trice your age cowering at my feet, upstarting, little snake!" He rose from his chair and approached the teenager menacingly. "You will do as I say or suffer the consequences! Cru…"

"NO!" Harry stepped in front of Blaise and raised his wand to conjure a shield. "You will _not_ harm one of mine. We had a deal!"

"Did we?" The Dark Lord inquired deceptively soft, stalking towards the pair. "I remember something about not harming your friends and followers. However, if I am not mistaken, Mr. Zabini is neither."

"You. Will. Not. Touch. Him." The teenager growled, meeting the older wizard head-on. "I brought him here to introduce him to the family. I did _not_ bring him here to be tortured or threatened. Are we clear?"

"Harry," Blaise choked, torn between talking reason into his fellow student or hiding behind him. The soulmates seemed to be locked in a battle of will. When he approached, Harry immediately reached for him and herded him behind his back. "Please," the Italian whispered, "I won't go far. I'll stop before anything happens. The Dark Lord just wants to see how my magic affects you … or doesn't affect you. I won't … I would never let you be unfaithful."

Stepping back, calm as you please, Tom nodded, "That would be acceptable," reclaiming his chair.

_*You're such a bastard!*_ Harry hissed.

Tom looked at him unemphatically, _*I am, and your little pet knows it. And now he has learned that no matter how much he displeases you, you will still protect him. An incubus who is afraid of your very touch is of no use.*_

Groaning, the Horcrux rubbed his forehead, "I so hate you."

"However, will I survive? Now begin!"

Turning towards the dark-skinned boy, Harry sighed. "Alright, Blaise, you have my permission. But keep in mind that …"

"I know," the other hastened to confirm. "I won't make you hurt Professor Snape. I promise." After a confirming nod, he inquired, "Can I kiss you?"

"Is that necessary?"

"Ahm … no."

"Then I would prefer if you didn't."

"Okay … alright, let me see." Hesitating, Blaise reached out with a reassuring smile, the other teenager laced their fingers. "It's alright, Blaise. Just go all out, and we'll see where that leads us."

So, the Slytherin did. He gently caressed the Gryffindor's palm, rubbed his pulse point. He offered little pets and kisses to Harry's hands, neck and shoulder. He pulled the other into a warm embrace and started to move against him. Everything looked soft and sensual. Even the Dark Lord had to admit that the two teenagers made an alluring picture. However, this display was not the reason for them being here. So, he raised his wand and started to chant.

"You can stop now." He stated, satisfied, after the quarter of an hour.

Dazed, Blaise pulled back when Harry gave a little nudge. He was … not hungry but … but he had liked the contact, had enjoyed being close, being touched and be allowed to touch. Seeing the dispassionate look in the other teenager's eyes was like a bucket of cold water. "You didn't like it at all."

"No, that's not it, you're good, Blaise, really. Your touch felt nice."

"You're not interested." Voldemort pointed out. "Thank you, Mr. Zabini. You may go now."

After a glance towards Harry, the teenager fled.

* * *

After a light lunch, Tom ushered Harry into the training room. Since parseltongue was a rare gift, few books were written on the subject. Hence the magic was best taught by example. The soulmates were locked in combat when Tom asked out of the blue, "You felt nothing when Zabini targeted you?"

Hissing a jinx, skilfully evading the rebound, the teenager shrugged, "It was nice, I mean … you know, touching someone warm and fit, … Blaise is an attractive bloke, but overall … no, not really."

"Your pet thinks it's because you are in love with Severus."

"Did he tell you that?"

Exasperated, Voldemort threw a bone-breaking curse, watching satisfied when it dissipated on Harry's shield. "I don't have to _ask_."

Reflecting a jinx from a mirror behind Tom, Harry fist-pumped when the spell hit its target. He even turned a little red when the Dark Lord swayed while complimenting him, "You're thinking outside the box. Good."

Claiming snacks and drinks from a tray Belladonna had provided, the two soulmates sat on the mats facing each other. Stretching had become part of their routine since more flexibility meant a wider range of motions.

"Do _you_ think you are in love with Severus Snape?"

"Do you?"

Shaking his head, Tom held out his hand to assist his Horcrux in stretching his back when they sat cross-legged, facing each other. "It hardly matters what _I_ think. I ask about your feelings."

"And you're not getting a rash?" Harry teased, allowing his opponent to bend his back so that he could touch the floor with his forehead. After a moment, he rose again, only to meet concerned eyes. "I don't know," he admitted, looking at his hands.

"You don't know if you love him?"

"How do you know that you love someone? I remember flashes … impressions of mum and dad. Most of the night, they died. I know she gave her life for me but … but that doesn't mean that I felt loved at that moment. I think I was mostly confused, … and scared." After gathering his thoughts, the teenager continued. "I know that I love Ron and Hermione. They were my first friends. I would die to make sure they are alright. But Severus is … different."

"Can you explain how?"

Laying back, giving a formidable star-fish impression, the young man shook his head. "Severus … he just makes sense. He was a bastard, but he never treated me like a celebrity or a pariah, according to public opinion. He protected me, and …" He rose agitated and started to attack the training dummies. "Dumbledore he, … he manipulated me from day one. Do you know how that feels? To discover that every bad thing in your life can be traced back to one man? A man who claims to have had your best interest at heart. Bill told Ron that he's still scheming with the Order to get me back from Sirius. Who does that to an orphan, take him away from the only 'family' he has left? Do you know how hard it is to open up to someone after that? But Severus … he is … reliable. I trust him. To know he's there is … safe." With a slashing motion, a training dummy was cut in two.

"Are you trying to sell him to me?" Oh, to be young and having the luxury of such feelings again.

"No! I just … he'll stand beside me, no matter what. I can trust him to have my back unconditionally."

"Trust does not equal love. Ron and Hermione would do the same. They've followed you into danger since you were eleven. They switched sides for you, even though it will make Ron's life very difficult. Yet I don't see you getting romantically involved with either of them."

Exasperated, Harry lowered his wand. "Then what do you think?"

"I think you are not allowing yourself to love."

"Why?"

With a deep sigh, Tom centred himself before admitting, "Because I recognise the sentiment."

Tentatively, the teenager reached out and touched his soulmate's arm, "Barty worships the ground you walk on. He would do anything for you."

"As would Severus for you. Harry, the man was willing to die for you, several times over. Every time he returned to me, he knew that he was at risk of being discovered. Still, he came to keep you protected!"

"I know, that's why …" Rubbing his head, the young man deflated. "I can't … I can't imagine anybody who I could believe in as implicitly as Severus Snape. The thought of him not being there … it's unfathomable. I need him."

"Need is …"

"… not love. I know. It's just … he's been alone for so long, torn between two masters who couldn't care less about him. To act like that, to promise him something I don't know I can deliver, hurting him even more … I don't want that."

"You think he's afraid of pain?"

Harry snorted, "I think he stopped being afraid of pain the moment he realised that you would kill mum."

"I had no intentions of killing your mother. I asked her to step aside three times."

"A mother stepping away from her child. Please, Tom, even you could not have been so foolish as to think that would work."

The Dark Lord shrugged. He still did not like to admit to a wrong. "Severus lived to play the game for both sides after that."

"No," Harry breathed, sinking back down cross-legged. "Severus stopped living the moment he held mum's dead body in his arms. Dumbledore had forced a vow in exchange for hiding my family. The moment Lily died, his only reason for living became to protect me, simply because he knew no other way to honour her memory."

"You think he gave up."

"I think the first time he thought about himself for the last sixteen years was when he begged me not to put my mark on his forearm."

"So, he became your follower to honour a woman's memory, who died fifteen years ago? Is that what you're saying?"

"He became my follower because he loved mum. Enough to give up everything for her son. Love is stronger than fear. I told you so."

Trying a different approach, Tom wanted to know, "What is the status of your relationship?"

Shrugging, Harry admitted, "We don't have one. I'm a student; he's a professor. There are hundred-and-one rules against us being together."

"Still, you don't keep your distance."

"I feel comfortable with him. He smells of herbs, and his rooms are … I like it there. It's the only place in the world that comes without expectations. I promised not to do anything that could compromise him. No kissing or … you know,"

"Oh, I know," Voldemort chuckled, then he became serious again. "Harry, those we care about can hurt us with callousness and thoughtless words. But those we love have infinitely more power. I know that you're scared. I also know that you're playing for time under the pretence of respecting Severus' boundaries. That's fair, honourable even, but what will you do when you are still unsure the day you graduate?"

Scratching his neck, Harry repeated, "I've come so far with him. I don't want to hurt him."

Reaching for the young man's wrists, Tom rubbed them soothingly. "I know, Harry. But that in itself should tell you something. You have a chance."

"Like you and Barty?"

Lightly pulling the messy ponytail, the Dark Lord confirmed. "That is none of your business, _*my Horcrux*_."

After a while, a shadow vanished from the window. "Is he gone?" Tom wanted to know. Harry nodded.

"You knew he was there all along?"

"He was in the library after lunch, and he approached the room the moment you started throwing hexes at me."

"Why did you continue our conversation?"

Burrowing into the older wizard, the teenager admitted, "Because talking feelings with him is like pulling teeth. Still, I don't want to give him the wrong impression. Nor do I want to string him along. He deserves to know how I feel, so he can make an informed decision of how to proceed."

"Do you think he will keep his distance? That he would even be able to?"

Pulling back, Harry re-did his hair. The longer it got, the easier it was to manage. Looking less like his father was a bonus. "No, I think he is too far gone on me for that. We did a good job with him last summer. I enforced that during the evenings I spent with him at Hogwarts. He never got the chance to 'wane' himself off my presence. He's used to me being a part of his life. Still, I want to be honest with him. He has been lied to often enough. I'm not Dumbledore, and I'm certainly not you!" Needing a change of topic, he inquired, "By the way, did you discover why Blaise can't ‘put a spell on me' so to speak?"

"Of course," Tom rose and pulled Harry to his feet. "Your mind is trice protected. He wouldn't stand a chance against Ron or Hermione either."

Laughing, the teenager concluded, "So all this talk about love had absolutely nothing to do with the matter at hand."

A gentle hand turned him around. " _You_ needed to talk. No matter the Horcrux or what you have suffered in the past, you are still a teenager, Harry. And sometimes, it's good to get things off your chest."

"Be careful, oh big, bad Dark Lord. People will start to think you care."

"No need to be insulting," Tom sniffed, then picked up throwing hexes. They had merely three weeks before Harry had to return to Hogwarts. Best to thrum as much knowledge into his equal's head as possible.

* * *

Severus stared into an empty cauldron. After overhearing the conversation between the Dark Lord and Harry, he had fled to his laboratory. He had planned on brewing something. But what? There were dozens of recipes he had been eager to try these last few years but had never had the time or resources. Now he could not even recall how to toss together a headache potion.

It was ridiculous. What had he thought? That the child would share his feelings? That Potter … Harry would be as gone on him as he was on the young man? He had never said anything. Never lied about his feelings or lack thereof. They had kissed, and the young man had enjoyed that. They touched, and Harry seemed to draw comfort from that. Them being together was more than 'nice'. He had also promised not to cross any boundaries, Severus had. His new master had done everything right. So, why did it hurt so much to hear that he did not love him?

"I'm sorry." The young man's voice was soft and apologetic.

Straightening his robes, Severus turned. "There is no reason to apologise for not loving me."

"I'm not." Stepping closer, Harry caressed Severus' cheek softly. "I'm sorry that you are hurt. You, of all people, don't deserve that."

"I can assure you …"

"Don't," the young man interrupted, "Severus, please, don't. We both know that we never talk about it. But I needed you to know how I feel." Stepping closer, the teenager wrapped his arms around the Potion Master and pressed his forehead against the man's shoulder. Severus was helpless, but to pull him close. This was … safe, comfortable, everything he wanted.

"I don't want to lose you," Harry sighed as if defeated. "I can't bear the thought. You're the only one I can trust not to put me on a pedestal or tear me down because I won't fulfil your expectations. Don't make me do this without you, please."

"I won't," Severus breathed hoarsely, tucking Harry's head under his chin, the most intimate contact he could allow himself without getting carried away. It was gentle … reassuring. Maybe they did not need love; trust could be enough. After all, how many couples suffered in their relationships because they kept secrets? Severus was an open book because of the mark. Harry had just proven that he would not keep secrets about the status of their relationship. It was enough.

"I'll be by your side. Always"

* * *

"There will be a meeting tonight. The annual ball at Malfoy Manor is in two days. We need to discuss our approach."

Hermione spoke up, "Our robes are ready. Masks will be provided, I assume."

Ron wanted to know, "When are we leaving?"

Smiling at their reaction, Tom shared, "In an hour."

Blaise sat by Harry's side, trying not to be seen. It was not like a Slytherin to remain inconspicuous, but here he could not figure out what was expected. "Am I supposed to come?" He asked quietly.

Surprisingly, it was Barty Crouch Jr. who replied, with a condescending, "You don't even have a master, little snake. You're not ready to play with the big boys. Better slither back into your corner."

Harry made a mildly disapproving noise, but Barty only grinned and licked the corner of his lips.

"When he's right, he's right," Hermione nodded, then looked at her friend, "Do you plan on changing that?"

Blaise swallowed when the three Gryffindors turned their attention on him. He was not even sure which answer he preferred but felt undeniably relieved when Harry stated, "Not yet." Then, as if nothing of significance had happened, the young man turned back to Tom. "If Lucius mouths off again, I won't keep my composure. I hope at least Malfoy Junior is absent. It's bad enough that I have to deal with him at Hogwarts. I would prefer to spare myself that ordeal during the holidays."

Snorting, Ron reminded him, "Annual Ball at Malfoy Manor. No chance that Draco is _not_ prancing around."

"Kill me now!" Harry groaned, slipping down in his chair.

Blaise felt torn between defending his friend and saying something ‘wrong'.

"If you insist," Tom replied, drawing his wand. The Slytherins barely had time to scramble back from the table before a fight broke out in the dining room.

Blaise flinched at every curse. Compared to how his duelling lessons, this was an all-out war. He could not understand how Professor Snape could be so calm. The teacher merely stood in a corner, wand at the ready, but not interfering beyond the occasional shield to keep them safe from stray spells and curses. At his pupils questioning look, he merely shrugged. "Better for them to get it out before the meeting."

Doubtfully, the Slytherin watched the duelists.

With a tilt of his head, the Potion Master gestured to were three teenagers seemed engaged in a perfectly choreographed dance around the older wizard, alternatively dodging, shielding and attacking the man. After a few minutes, Belladonna popped in and cleared her throat. Immediately, all fire ceased.

With a snap of her fingers, everything was put to order again. The wizards had been careful not to disturb the dishes. "The Lords and Lady will sit down and finish their supper. Now! Or there won't be pudding."

"Yes, Belladonna," the quartet replied contritely.

"Only my Inner Circle will be there tonight. A dozen people at best, yours included," Tom tilted his head towards Ron and Hermione.

"Fine. Let's see if what they have to say is more interesting than Lucius' monologues."

* * *

  



	22. December 19th – December 21st 1995

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yule Ball at Malfoy Manor. You're all in for the treat you deserve after the last chapter.  
> Fun fact: The costumes from Tom and Barty were shamelessly stolen. Can you tell me from where?  
> As always: My sincerest gratitude goes to my amazing beta who not only polishes the chapters up for convenient and seamless reading but who felt inspired enough by my description to offer these amazing pieces of art for the story. Thank you so much Cecicci.
> 
> * * *

Tom and Harry had covered Ron and Hermione in disillusionment charms and silencing spells before they departed from Peverell Hall. As before, two chairs had been placed at the head of the table. More thrones than chairs, and Harry, with his dark robes and black mask, claimed one without a word. Severus stood behind his shoulder while Barty took a seat at the back, though he had entered right after Lord Voldemort. The other Death Eaters seemed unsure what to make of that. Ron and Hermione claimed the sides of the room, watching, waiting, unseen.

While political moves and blackmail material was discussed, Harry wanted to gouge out his ears. This was mind-numbingly boring. He would never go into politics. Never! Hopefully, Ron had a better head for it since he would sit for both the Black seats. That came with a lot of expectations.

‘Are you crazy, mate? You can't have me representing you at the Wizengamot!' His best friend thought, thunderstruck.

‘Why not? You clearly get what they are talking about, and I have no interest whatsoever to spend my time in stuffy dungeons.'

‘Harry,' Hermione thought sensibly, ‘It is your duty as Lord Potter to represent the will of people and to act in their best interest as an active part of the Wizengamot.'

‘No,' the Gryffindor shared triumphantly, ‘the duties of a Lord include but are not limited to: guiding the political decisions of the governing body; and: to act in the best interest of the witches and wizards of Great Britain. Nowhere in the carter is it written that I have to do that in person.'

‘You've actually read the Wizengamot Carter?'

‘Tom made me,' Harry grumbled. ‘Anyway, Ron gets this stuff. He has a brilliant head and the necessary logical thinking to understand the plans the other Lords could devise within the plans they propose. Even Tom agrees that you would be the best representative available.'

Ron choked, ‘You have talked to Lord Voldemort about me representing you at the Wizengamot?'

Before they could continue their conversation, Lord Avery had drawn his wand and cast a hex at Hermione. It was not hard to avoid, but this meeting had just gotten a lot more interesting. "My Lord," The Death Eater hissed, "There are spies in our midst!"

All attendees froze. Then, out of the blue, hexes and revealing spells started flying. Ron and Hermione had no trouble dodging, but one managed to weaken their invisibility spells. "I would stop now if I were you," Harry advised quietly, not moving from his chair.

It was impossible to identify the intruders, only that one was male and one female. The well-meaning advice was ignored, as Lord Nott brandished his wand and threw a curse at the witch.

"Protego," Harry stated, pressing his fingertips together. He studied the Slytherin before looking at Tom. _*Are you particularly attached to him?*_

_*No, though he might be useful in the future,*_ Lord Voldemort grinned viciously, making an inviting gesture.

_"Immobulus,"_ Harry spoke quietly, and together with Hermione's casting and Ron's wand-movement, the Death Eater was frozen. Then the Horcrux rose from his chair. In perfect sync, the three black-clad figures circled the table. The attending witches and wizards seemed unsure whom to follow with their eyes. Harry served as their voice since he was the only one with the voice-distorting charm woven into his mask. "One of you has already made the mistake of underestimating me. I would have expected him to share his experience about what happens when one attacks me or mine. Obviously, I overestimated him."

The Death Eaters seemed torn between standing up to these unknown entities and acting without their Lord's approval. Since Voldemort just sat in his chair and watched the proceedings, they dared not interfere. Once Harry had reached the frozen Lord Nott, he held out his hand. "Knife."

As expected, the Potion Master held out the small, wickedly sharp blade. He would have to discard it since it would be as good as useless to cut potion ingredients once polluted by blood. Yet, that was a price he was glad to pay. Watching Harry stand up to the arrogant Lord, radiating power, was awe-inspiring. Slowly the young man dragged his blade over the wizard's cheeks. The gauge went down to the bone. The man could not even cry out when the blood started to drip onto his robes. Harry folded his arms behind his back, letting the blood from the blade soil the floor.

"How dare you?" Lord Goyle hissed, brandishing his wand. Yet before he could fire the first spell, Harry's head whipped around, and he whispered, _"Flagellum."_ This time Hermione executed the wand motion since she was the one who could see the face. In quick succession, two ugly whipping marks appeared on the man's cheeks. The Death Eaters edged away from the two victims. Slowly completing the circle, until they all were at their original positions, Harry sat down again, glancing at Voldemort, who seemed unmoved by the proceedings. Then he studied the Death Eaters around the table, ordering quietly, "Proceed."

Nobody dared to make a sound.

"Since nobody has anything to add, we will see each other two days from now." Voldemort rose, and Harry followed.

"My Lord, please, …" Lord Avery spoke up. "How should we have known that you were aware of them?"

"Really, Avery?" The Dark Lord looked over his shoulder. "Do you think me so reckless as to allow intruders in our midst without knowing about them?" He glanced at his Inner Circle, "You better not disappoint me at the ball. Because I will not be as lenient as my partner." He gestured at the two injured Death Eaters, "Let these marks be a warning for all of you, never to underestimate those who sit by my side."

The Inner Circle barely breathed when Barty followed his master, three perfectly synchronised black figures tailing them.

* * *

Back at the Dark Lord's office, Harry leaned against Tom's legs as soon as the man sat down. Ron and Hermione claimed places next to him on the carpet. Barty and Severus chose armchairs in front of the fireplace.

Surprisingly, it was Ron who spoke up first, "I think Lord Crabbe will be a problem. And the one facing Avery, I think. They both were … irked when Harry injured their friends."

"Lord Suffolk," Barty spoke up. "He tends to oppose Lord Avery every chance he gets. Apparently, he doesn't like it when someone's playing in his sandbox."

"They will continue to test you," Tom warned his Horcrux, carding his fingers through his long, dark hair. "When I took your side, I elevated you above all others. I usually don't interfere in their infights, since they know better than to quarrel during meetings. That I didn't reprimand you proves that I accept your decisions. Now they will start looking for weaknesses."

"Bring it on," Harry shrugged, raising his eyes. "I won't attend any meetings without Ron and Hermione. They'll have my back. And with Severus by my side, I'm as good as invincible."

"Me interfering on your behalf will make you look weak."

Grinning, Harry looked at his first advisor, "I don't need you to interfere. Your emotions are enough to give me an edge. You feel protective and tense when you think someone is about to make a move against me."

Turning back to the matter at hand, the Dark Lord inquired, "What is your opinion, Miss Granger?"

Hermione took her time. "I think Malfoy Sr. tries to elevate himself by not admitting to a mistake. Today Harry cut that plan off at the feet when outing him. If you want him out of the picture, it would be easiest to continue needling him like that. However, the man has considerable influence both on the board of governors and at the Ministry. We need to find a way to gain leverage over him."

"Reasonable," Tom tilted his head. "And how do you propose you do that?"

Grinning, the three Gryffindors replied in one voice, "Draco."

Barty chuckled, "Another Slytherin for you to play with?"

"Draco's a diva," Severus gave food for thought. "He will easily accept an elevated position in your circle. He will consider himself superior to everyone else if you claim him before others. He likes to appear grand and influential."

"Arrogant, you mean," Harry concluded. When his advisor nodded, he pondered, "So if he had to fight for his place, if he were not the _first_ , we could keep him on his toes."

"You're still thinking Zabini," Ron pondered.

"Maybe. But I'm not sure Blaise has the stomach for it."

‘We were not sure if Ron and I had the stomach for this either. Tonight was a baptism by fire for all of us.'

Pulling up his knees, resting his chin on them, Ron nodded, ‘It bothered me less than I thought. Though I don't think I want to go around hurting others, these Death Eaters … they are not particularly good people.'

‘It's not bad to take them down a notch.' Hermione agreed.

"That's a tight rope to wander," Harry whispered.

Tom caressed the young man's head. "We want to change the world, but we have to start where we are. A transition can only happen gradually, and for now, that includes a certain degree of violence."

Smiling weakly, the teenager reprimanded, "You should stay out of my head."

"And the three of you should speak out loud."

"Apologies," the trio offered. Then they rose as one.

"Goodnight." Ron and Hermione left.

Harry looked at his first advisor, "Walk with me."

Gracefully, Severus got up and followed his master.

* * *

Though it was a chilly December night, the sunroom was beautiful. The stary sky beyond the bay-windows created a tranquil atmosphere. For a few moments, Harry took the time to collect himself. He reached into his robes and held out a blood-speckled handkerchief. Severus unwrapped it and revealed his potion knife. The hint of a smile graced his lips. The young man had preserved the blood. He approved.

"I will buy you a new one." Harry didn't look at him. Hands loosely clasped behind his back, he gazed out. As before, he reminded Severus of the young Tom Riddle who had once tempted him with promises of power and equality amongst his peers, no matter his blood-status. But Harry was different. He had to believe that, or he had traded one tyrant for another.

"I have enough potion knives."

"Not one like this."

No, not one like this. The blade was old, the handle worn, but it had stayed sharp for more than ten years. "It was a gift from my Potion Master." Severus shared. "He gave it to me the first time he had me cut my own ingredients. It was the most expensive tool I have ever owned. I can sterilise it. It can still be of use."

"But not for all ingredients. It has tasted blood. The blade will remember."

"So, you have been paying attention." Severus rumbled contently.

Drily, Harry replied, "Let's just say, you can't be around a Potion Master all the time and _not_ pick up a few things."

Slowly stepping closer, the older wizard tried to see his master's eyes. They were contemplative, without any real expression for him to read. "You've brought me Avery's blood. I will make good use of it."

Harry chuckled humourlessly, "I have no doubt."

When he didn't continue, Severus inquired, "I cannot advise you if you don't tell me what is bothering you, master."

Reluctantly, the young man admitted, "I'm not sure I like the person I become."

"Because you don't want to hurt people?"

"No," Harry whispered, looking up with cold emerald eyes. "Because I liked it."

For a heartbeat, Severus said nothing, allowed himself to get lost in the jewel-like eyes. Then he slowly reached out, unsure if he was allowed to touch, but daring, nonetheless. Reaching for Harry's hand, the man brushed a reverent kiss over his knuckles before pressing it against his forehead. Tonight, he had been in awe.

Harry was just wrapping one of the owl-ordered presents, occasionally petting Hedwig, who had decided that she had time for him today. When Nagini slithered into Tom's study, she regurgitated a white bunny in the middle of the carpet, fur and everything. Sighing, the Dark Lord wanted to know, _*Nagini, why are you bringing dead animals into my office?*_

_*The feather duster is working too much. She has no time to hunt.*_

Slowly Tom and Harry turned towards the white owl, who studied the prey in the middle of the room. Nobody said a word. After a minute, Hedwig decided that this was worth her time and dived for the mammal. She then claimed a position on the mantlepiece and started to strip the rabbit off its skin.

"Did your snake just feed my owl?"

"And what does it say about my life that this is not the weirdest thing I have witnessed today?" Tom pondered.

Harry immediately perked up and looked at his soulmate.

With an absent-minded gesture, the Dark Lord shared, "Barty and Ron are sitting in the library, studying law. Your boy decided to learn wizarding law from the ground up so that he could represent your interests in the best way possible."

"How could Barty be of any help?"

"You forget that Bartemius Crouch was a member of the Wizengamot. Barty grew up in the political circus."

Viciously, the young man hissed, "Putting his job before his son is not something any father should do! Crouch was an absolute bastard!"

"And Barty killed him for it. Justice was served."

"Not really," Harry replied tonelessly, starring at the book about Southern American plants and the seed-package he had just wrapped for Neville. "Had his father been more of a father to him, maybe Barty would not have fallen for you and Neville's parents would still be there for him."

"The Longbottoms?"

"Yea, your lovely trio of mad Death Eaters tortured them to insanity. They've been at St. Mungos for the last fourteen years."

Perplexed, Voldemort stated, "But Severus has developed a potion to counter the effects of that curse more than seventeen years ago."

Drily, Harry pointed out, "It's not their bodies that are the problem."

"I see," Tom replied, then rose and left the room.

* * *

"This is too much," Hermione whispered. Her robes were of a shimmering light-grey, covered in hundreds and hundreds of tiny feathers that reflected the light. Once she put on her mask, her hair became white and straight, reaching the small of her back. Her make-up was discreet and made her skin radiant.

Ron stood beside her, admiring himself in the mirror. His outfit was of a similar cut; anthracite hair reached his nape. "We are Lord and Lady Crow, companions of Lord Corvin. I say you look perfect." Gently guiding up her head, the redhead smiled at her, "You are beautiful, Hermione. With or without a costume. Don't ever doubt that."

The witch opened her eyes but did not know how to reply to the compliment. After nearly a minute, she croaked, "You look very handsome yourself."

They fidgeted in front of the mirror until Harry peeked through the door. "Wow, you look amazing." Entering fully, he revealed his costume, similar to that of his friends, just raven-black. His mask had a larger beak than Ron's and Hermione's, making him nigh unrecognisably.

Sitting down on the bed, Hermione wanted to know, "So, what's the plan for tonight?"

Shrugging, Harry toyed with his mask. "No idea. Us attending was Tom's idea. For my part, I want to see how much I can annoy Malfoy without making it too obvious."

"Are you still thinking about recruiting him?" Ron wanted to know.

"To be honest, I don't know. Malfoy would be an asset in Slytherin. The others listen to him. But what reason could he have to work with me? I won't coerce people into joining me. We can't trust them if we do."

"Isn't what you are doing with Zabini coercion as well?"

Harry reached for his neck to scratch it. Ron caught his wrist at the last second. "If you mess up your hair, Lily will murder you in your sleep."

"Right, thanks," Harry mumbled, then he shook his head. "I hope that I'm not forcing Blaise to join me. I wanted him to come out of his own free will. That's the whole reason for bringing him here. I will continue to feed him - I would not let him hurt Luna – no matter how he decides. But I must admit that a Slytherin of his talents could be a major asset. None of us is particularly socially savvy. He could bring knowledge to the table we are lacking."

"I'm not sure he has the stomach for bloodshed," Ron gave food for thought.

Grinning, all teeth, "None of us did, and then that bastard Avery targeted Hermione, and all of our scruples flew right out of the window!"

"That was different!"

"No, it wasn't, Ron," Hermione spoke up. "Not really. Every person is capable of violence. The only question is what triggers it."

Ron whipped around, "Nobody has the right to hurt you!"

Weaving their fingers together, the witch smiled, "I share the sentiment."

"So, the only question is, who is Blaise willing to shed blood for? Maybe he would do it to protect himself. Maybe it will be me, though I doubt that."

"Maybe it will be Luna. Have you thought about that?"

"I … no," Harry admitted. "No, actually, I haven't." Then he shook his head. "It doesn't matter anyway. Tonight, I want to watch him in his natural habitat. Let's see what he has to offer and then decide if we want him."

"Alright, so one potential recruit and annoying Malfoy as much as possible." Ron grinned.

"Gentlemen," Hermione put on her mask and brushed her white hair over her shoulder. "I believe we have a plan."

* * *

There had been hushed whispers when the six walked down the open staircase that led into the ballroom of Malfoy Manor. Tom had opted for a shimmering dark scull-mask that covered the upper part of his face. His robe was of an opalescent black. Barty complimented that with a horse-mask in light grey. Rider and steed were not the most expected pairing, but it got the point across. Harry stood at Tom's right shoulder, mirroring Barty. His black raven-mask swallowed the light, as did his robe. Ron and Hermione walked behind them, identical costumes in light- and dark-grey. Severus was last, a raven-mask not unlike Harry's own, anthracite robes that shimmered black in the right light. The Potion Master had dreaded the event, unwilling to entertain the thought of embarrassing himself in some random costume. But the Dark Lord – or more Barty – had proven impeccable taste. Their costumes complemented each other with their cuts, and the pairings were quite obvious.

Tom introduced himself as Death, Barty as Binky, wherever that stupid name came from. Harry was announced as Lord Corvin and his friends as Lord and Lady Crow. Severus himself was presented as Lord Raven. He was the only one widely known from their group. Blaise had chosen to use his real name. Unsettling their hosts with their synchronised movements, the trio walked around, watched and listened. This evening promised to be interesting.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me tell you, being in contact with a CoVid patient sucks!!!  
> In Vienna, everything just goes a little bit slower and the information you get on how to behave is just ... well, basically, incorrect. So I took my family in for testing, made the necessary inquiries on how to proceed on my own and now await the notification if one of us is CoVid positive or if we're all healthy and whole.  
> If one member of my family is positive we all need to go into lockdown. But since we all feel fine, let's hope that bad won't come to worse.  
> I sincerely hope that all of you have a much better weekend than I do.


	23. December 21st 1995

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's find out why Blaise would make an excellent addition to Harry's 'harem' ;).
> 
> * * *

"Merlin and Morgana, he's going to offend half the Wizengamot!" Blaise hissed, watching Harry from across the room. His fellow student's costume was impressive, as was the power he emanated, since, for the first time in memory, Harry was not holding back. He was radiant and beautiful and took Blaise's breath away. But his lack of social grace … it was a disaster! Frantically, the Italian looked around to find Ron and Hermione. Poste haste, he stirred them away from their companions, instructing, "Ron, watch and tell Harry to copy me."

Blaise then leaned over Hermione's hand, lips not touching the back of it, as he stated, "Lady Crow, may I be so bold as to introduce myself." He rose again, "He does not touch anything but the Lady's hand. Especially not with his lips. He does not shake her hand. He awaits her permission to continue this conversation. This is Lady Philippa Mortimer, the 9th Countess of Ulster. She's the current head of one of the oldest families in the country, a direct descendant of the Pendragon line. Her family has founded the Wizengamot, and though her son holds the seat, she's still the authority behind it."

As one, Hermione and Ron turned around, looking at Harry, who, out of the blue, tilted his head before turning toward an elderly witch, introducing himself as instructed. She was obviously charmed, and Blaise relaxed marginally. Turning back towards the Gryffindors, he mumbled, "Also, you should stop doing that. You, moving in synch, is seriously unsettling."

Together, they turned towards him and offered sharp smiles before answering in one voice, "We know." They turned to go, calling over their shoulders the last moment, "Get Malfoy to stay away from Harry." "He'll mess with him and will only get more creative as the evening wears on." "Just a friendly reminder." Ron winked before guiding Hermione to the dancefloor.

Confident that Harry would not commit a social faux pas in the next few minutes, Blaise joined his Slytherin friend at the buffet. As always, Draco looked absolutely mouth-watering. Had Harry not charged him far beyond what was needed, the incubus would salivate over his best friend instead of admiring him from an aesthetical point of view. The blond wore cream-coloured robes with a pair of white wings at his back. A charm made them occasionally flutter – all in all, the picture of the perfect angel. Draco looked aetherial. Of course, people admired him, but that was nothing on the attention the Dark Lord and his partner drew. Draco did not like that. "Who does he even think he is?" He ranted. "I'm sure he does not even have an invitation!"

"Does he need one when he enters in the Dark Lord's company?" Blaise stated drily. But his best friend cut him off.

"Why would Lord … the Dark Lord associate with someone of no standing?" Draco hissed like an enraged kitten. "I asked around. Nobody knows who he is. The three crows are just a bunch of upstaters. Their synch act is just a cheap way to garner attention!"

Watching the ‘golden trio' waltzing over the dancefloor, three different partners but still in perfect unity, Blaise smiled, "They _are_ drawing attention."

Draco huffed and turned away.

"Why don't you show me the gardens. I am sure I can make it worth your while."

Leaning away, Draco growled, "I don't swing that way. Go play your games with someone else, Blaise!" With a huff, was off.

So far, so good. At least now, Blaise could be reasonably sure that his friend would stay away from the Gryffindors. When McNair engaged him in a conversation, the Slytherin only paid half attention, too determined to keep an eye on Harry. When he was led away, he met Prof. Snape's eyes, gesturing towards the Gryffindor. A subtle nod indicated that the Potion Master would keep an eye on them. Next to the ballroom in a lounge, a few Lords and Ladies were engaged in a lively discussion. McNair smiled sharply as he guided the young Slytherin into the room and locked the door behind them.

* * *

Harry did his best to adhere to all the rules and regulations Tom had thrummed into his head. He had nearly messed up with the Lady Mortimer, but fortunately, Blaise had saved him last minute. Now he did his best to appear interested, while at the same time, discreetly unruffling the bindings of Draco's wings wordlessly. They had slipped off two times now, and Harry wanted to know how long he could keep it up before the Slytherin would tire of his unruly costume. He would look like a beige candlestick without the wings, and Harry contemplated if he should spell his hair black or maybe red with the illusion of flames? At Barty's insistent nudge, he returned his attention to the conversation at hand, realising that being pompous and self-important was not a trait reserved for the Malfoy family. Few had to say anything of substance. Harry wondered how Tom could suffer such unimaginative people. Neville, the twins, even Luna, … especially Luna, were a lot more interesting. Conversations with them kept you on your toes. But here, it was politics, one scandal or the other or boring laws that would make the rich richer. Harry wanted to go home.

A cool drink was pressed into his hand, something that had happened countless times before, and every time Harry had smiled at the server and abandoned the glass first chance he got. Not to drink anything in good faith had been one of the first lessons Tom and Severus had drilled into him. Too many potions could be slipped unnoticed. The young man relaxed when he realised that Severus had served him. He even took a sip after the Potion Master had given a miniscule nod. God, he was parched.

Discretely, the older man informed him. "Mr. Zabini was guided into the lounge half an hour ago. I am not sure that these are safe surroundings for an incubus. Many followers have realised that he is with us. He could be in danger by association."

Nodding, Harry promised, "I'll look into it eventually."

The older wizard hesitated.

Calm, the young man looked at his advisor. "If a chosen … associate can't hold his own against a group of people during a party, he's hardly worth my time."

Severus did not like that but lowered his eyes and stepped back. After a dance with an eligible young Lady he had been introduced to – and by god was Pansy a bore – Harry contacted his friends.

‘Lounge?'

‘North-West door.'

Ron and Hermione took their places behind his shoulder while he crossed the dancefloor, not caring that he was making a spectacle of himself. Hands loosely clasped behind his back, he spoke quietly, "Alohamora." Ron pushed the magic; Hermione made a coveted motion. The overpowered spell had the double doors swung open, bouncing back from the walls. Allowing the other guests a good view of what was happening inside the anteroom. Harry could not suppress a proud smile.

Blaise was lounging on the piano bench, occasionally playing a key, while watching the other inhabitants of the room in various states of copulation. The Death Eaters had clearly underestimated him. Overcharged, Blaise had not had any problems to light up their desires and push enough force into it to nurture them into bonfires. Two Ladies were rolling on the floor. McNair and McGregor were fucking on the sofa. Several other pairs, not those who had entered the ball together, engaged in copulation in various stages of undress. For several moments, the monochrome trio stood just beyond the entrance. Then Harry offered one word, loud enough for all to hear, "Good."

When he held out his hand for Blaise, the Slytherin rose, straightened his attire, was guided into a slow waltz. Ron and Hermione remained vigilant, watching the couples, taking vindictive pleasure in their embarrassment. Only after the room was empty did they join Harry and Blaise on the dancefloor, once again making a spectacle of themselves on opposite sides of the room by moving through the exact same steps. Whispers surrounded them now. This would be the scandal everyone remembered.

Tom had been prepared to indulge his Horcrux tonight. He had studied the young Malfoy heir, as he got green with jealousy over all the attention his equal was receiving. Two dances later, he joined them, claiming Harry's as his partner. Barty chose Ron and Severus requested a dance from Hermione. After that, they crashed a conversation between Lucius and Cornelius Fudge. The Lord was apparently irked that his master planned to leave the ball so early. The Dark Lord merely stated, "Since a few of your guests decided to entertain themselves with my equal's chosen follower, it is safe to say that I wish not to dwell in such lewd company."

Harry gave a half-bow, "Lord Malfoy, it was an … interesting evening."

He then bowed properly before Narcissa, who hovered at the side, indicating a kiss on her hand. "Lady Malfoy, thank you for the invitation."

The group left the ball the same way they had come, the trio in perfect synch. Blaise was the only noticeable difference. Instead of following Severus, he walked in the centre of the monochrome trio. This evening would surely leave an impression.

* * *

Once they were back at Peverell Manor, Belladonna popped up, "Snacks have been prepared in the winter garden, Sirs and Lady."

"Excellent," Tom sighed. "I'm famished."

Grinning, Ron followed the Dark Lord, gaping at the buffet that was laid out for them. "I so love your house-elves, Sir." Before starting to fill three plates.

Hermione sank onto a sofa, groaning blissfully, when Harry went down on his knees, taking off her shoes. Her pain had been more distracting for Ron and himself than it had ever been for her. Heels hurt; that was a simple fact of life, no need to be bothered. He settled on the floor, leaning back against the sofa, when Ron came over and claimed the seat beside Hermione, handing over one plate each. Barty served drinks and food for himself and the Dark Lord before relaxing into an armchair next to Tom.

Severus was the last to help himself before claiming a place next to the Gryffindor trio. He was still surprised how relaxed he could feel, despite Barty and Lord Voldemort being in the same room. Blaise seemed unsure of where he fitted into this. Finally, he probed, "You were testing me tonight." The little snake had caught on. Helping himself to some food, he took the proffered seat, waiting for Harry to speak.

"Course we did," Harry swallowed a bite before setting his half-filled plate aside. "What use would I have for a follower who can't hold his own?"

"So, you were prepared for them to attack or rape me? And you would have just considered it me failing your test?" The Slytherin spat out.

"Yes," the young man replied drily. "That's why a monitoring charm was woven into your mask. Had you become seriously distressed, I would have been notified."

"What?"

Hermione summoned Blaise's mask from the dresser. She then turned it around and pointed at a dark rune in the middle of the forehead. "It's a parsel-rune, kind of a mood-ring that relates your feelings to Harry."

Inspecting the mask, the Slytherin sagged ever so slightly. "So, you didn't leave me alone." Why did he feel like crying suddenly? He had always been self-sufficient; his mother would have never allowed for anything less. With his nature, he could not form bonds beyond friendship, and even that was hard at times. ‘Friends' usually couldn't understand why he got needy at irregular intervals. A tiny part of him had wanted to believe that Harry, with all his power and his overwhelming presence, was different. That the fellow student could actually care about Blaise. To now have proof was … overwhelming.

Looking up from the floor, Harry took his time with the answer. This was hard for Blaise. They all could see it, so he gave the Slytherin time to compose himself. He looked at Tom, unsure if it was wise to reveal the full extent of their plan. His equal nodded. "For the duration of these holidays, you are under my protection. That's not limited to satiating your hunger."

"What about after?" Blaise whispered.

"What I have told you, Mr. Zabini?" Severus stated calmly.

"It's my choice."

"Always has been. Always will be," Harry confirmed. "I punished you because you broke the rules. Now, you know what to expect in a worst-case scenario. So, do you want to go back or forward?"

"You can't let me go back. I know too much."

Chuckling, Hermione piped up, ">Three may keep a secret if two of them are dead.< What's happening here is very much not a secret."

Blaise swallowed compulsively. Despite her addon, the Gryffindor witch sounded vaguely threatening.

"Benjamin Franklin," Ron shot out. "Who's Benjamin Franklin?"

"American president," Harry replied, absent-minded, "Not the point. The point is, as Hermione's said, _this_ ," he gestured around the room, "is not a secret. First, because there are already several people in the known, and second, Severus gave you a potion before you flooed over. Tom could obliviate you, and you would not remember a single thing about these holidays. We would make you think that you've gotten food poisoning. You would wake-up in the Slytherin dorm tomorrow, feeling fine, being none the wiser."

The Slytherin shook his head. "It can't be that easy."

"That potion is very complex," The Potion Master snapped, insulted at someone belittling his art. "But it will serve its purpose. For you, it will be just that easy, Mr. Zabini."

"And if … if I don't want that?"

"Then you must choose me, Blaise. But that's a one-way street. No second guesses."

Defiantly, the young man challenged, "Like it is for Professor Snape and Ron and Hermione."

Feeling his friends' hands on his shoulders, Harry looked at his advisor before shaking his head. "No, for Severus, Ron and Hermione, there never really was a choice."

Licking his lips, the young Slytherin turned towards the Dark Lord, "Since you can obliviate me, there seems no harm in asking: What are your plans, Milord?"

Grinning, Lord Voldemort challenged, "Shouldn't you ask Harry? He's the one who offers you a place in his circle."

"No, Sir. Harry and you are one and the same in this. What you want, he wants and vice versa. So, I would like to know about your plans. I will only make an informed decision."

Looking at his equal, the Dark Lord tilted his head, "Very well …," Then he started to explain. About the threat of the muggles. About the need for secrecy to protect their world. About the need to change their system from within, rather than overthrowing it, risking all-out war.

It was so different from everything that the young Slytherin had learned about Lord Voldemort and the first wizarding war that he asked flabbergasted after nearly an hour, "What happened to you? Why all the fighting and destruction and carnage? There are far easier ways to achieve your goals through political and social means than through bloodshed."

"That, young snake, is none of your business." The Lord replied coldly.

When Blaise looked at Harry, the young man shook his head, "His words are mine and vice versa. You were right; we are one. Now you have to decide: are you in or out?"

Looking at the people who were lounging in the candle-lit room, entirely at ease with each other, the young Slytherin realised that they would change the world. His family had always stayed neutral. His mother was determined that with their creature-inheritance, they could not afford to draw attention to themselves. But Blaise did not want to stand at the sideline any longer. Tonight, he had helped Harry. He had contributed, not merely received charity! Lord Voldemort's plans were ambitious but necessary for the survival of their race. Muggles were a danger to their world, and wizards had become so very careless. So, the young Italian nodded and asked, "What do I have to do?"

Looking at his advisor, Harry let Severus give the command, "Undress."

"Here?"

"Do you wish for Tom and Barty to leave?" Harry mocked.

Another test. For a heartbeat, the young Slytherin hesitated, then he started to unbutton his robes. Within a minute, he was naked, trembling in the middle of the room, barely refraining from covering himself. That would not do. He was an incubus. His body was created to entice. He had nothing to be ashamed of.

"Where do you want your mark?"

Hermione and Ron had risen as well, flanking Harry once again. Blaise fought with himself not to take a step back when the trio started circling him like a pride on the hunt. He had to clear his throat before he demanded to know, "What will it be? The mark, I mean."

Chuckling, the other wizard shared, "It's different for every follower. Something that suits them specifically."

"And what suits me?"

"Wings," Hermione spoke, and big, callused hands brushed over his back. Ron emphasised, "White demon-wings, right here."

They were now at his back – another set of hands, fingertips brushed over his spine. "Left and right of your spine, indicating the shape of lightning bolts," a whisper of touch went down his spine. "Sharp … like wings of a demon, covering your entire back." Leaning closer, Blaise could feel the heat of another body. Sweet words caressed his ears and made him shiver. "You will look absolutely gorgeous, my little snake."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> You came this far. You might as well comment.


End file.
